


Poisoned Minds

by Carpenoctemily



Series: Second Chances [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Development, Comic Book Science, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Developing Friendships, Disability, Explicit Language, Fake Science, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Law Enforcement Pursuing the Winchesters (Supernatural), Medical Inaccuracies, Memory Loss, Memory Related, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Past Torture, Past Violence, Physical Disability, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester with Superpowers, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester's Visions, Sam Winchester-centric, Scientific Inaccuracies, Supernatural Elements, Superpowers, The Winchesters' (Supernatural) Terrible Lives, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 44,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpenoctemily/pseuds/Carpenoctemily
Summary: Sam Winchester has a lot on his plate: between Darkside’s new status as an Avenger and a supernatural world that just can’t seem to let Sam go, he barely has time to prepare for Dean’s return. But Sam’s reunion with his brother is overshadowed by a strange virus that reminds them both of a time that they’d much rather forget—and with the virus showing no signs of slowing down, Sam might have to decide what he’d rather save: his family, or his life.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Winchester, Matt Murdock & Sam Winchester, Peter Parker & Sam Winchester, Tony Stark & Sam Winchester
Series: Second Chances [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/910353
Comments: 117
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again!
> 
> A quick rehashing of the timeline changes, for anyone who is wondering where this falls in the timeline: This series diverges from Supernatural canon a few episodes into Season 12—Mary Winchester is in the alternate universe with Lucifer and believed to be dead, and Crowley is dead, but Jack brought Castiel back to life. Every Marvel movie has occurred in this universe up to Thor: Ragnarok (in chronological order, so Black Panther has happened but Infinity War has not).
> 
> Any other relevant timeline changes will be explained and/or mentioned within the story itself, but if you ever have any questions about the timeline (either for Marvel or Supernatural), leave a comment and I'll answer any question you have and explain to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy the next piece of Sam's Darkside adventures!

The haunting laugh of a demon echoes in Sam’s ears as he follows his brother into the restaurant.

This morning, three days after they first found evidence of demons in Lebanon, Sam and Dean were finally able to capture one. It only took three hours to persuade it to tell them what the demons were doing in Lebanon, but Sam knows now that those three hours were time they desperately needed.

The horrible laugh the demon produced after it told the brothers about the bomb was cut abruptly short by the angel blade Dean shoved through its chest, just before he turned and ran out of the dungeon.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the Biggerson’s, and Sam isn’t sure how much time they have left but he knows it’s not enough.

The occupants of the restaurant look normal enough at first glance. There’s a young couple sitting in a corner booth, an older man ordering at the counter, and two employees, one at the counter and one in the kitchen—the expected amount of people for three in the afternoon. Sam’s eyes catch on the logo painted on the wall, and he looks at it for a long moment as Dean heads to the counter. A loud shriek is followed by an arc of blood splattering across the logo, and Sam turns around, watching as the older man slumps to the ground, his throat neatly slit, blood pooling around his head like a monstrous halo. Dean is in the process of pulling his angel blade out of the chest of the cashier, who collapses as well, and Sam automatically pulls out his own weapon, eyeing the young couple in the corner—who promptly stand and run in Sam and Dean’s direction, eyes turning black as sinister grins stretch across their faces.

Dean meets the woman with the business end of the blade, and as her body slides to the floor, the man advances. “Sam, check the back!” Dean shouts as he turns to face the man, and Sam jumps the counter and heads into the kitchen, searching for the bomb and keeping an eye out for the other employee. Sam’s gaze has just landed on a large walk-in freezer when the other employee appears, and Sam quickly takes care of the demon, stabbing it in the chest and pulling out his blade without breaking stride. When Sam reaches the freezer, he opens the door and stiffens, staring in disbelief at the contents.

From what Sam can tell, the entire freezer has been stuffed with C4, stacked from the floor to the ceiling and presumably back into the far recesses of the room. The only place without explosives is a small pocket of air directly in front of Sam, which holds a digital kitchen timer that is presumably wired directly into the trigger. Sam’s heart rises in his throat as he watches the seconds tick away, one after the other.

**5:00** ****

**4:59** ****

**4:58**

Without another thought, Sam spins around and sprints out of the kitchen. Dean is standing near the counter, keeping watch for arriving demonic backup or unlucky customers, and Sam grabs his brother’s arm as he passes and pulls him roughly out of the restaurant.

“What the hell?!” Dean exclaims once they’ve hit the sidewalk, pulling his arm out of Sam’s grasp and turning toward his brother. Dean’s expression shifts to one of alarm when he sees the frantic worry in Sam’s eyes as Sam tries to figure out how the hell to evacuate the city in the next five minutes.

“The bomb is too big to move and way too complicated to disable, and it’s going off in less than five minutes,” Sam says breathlessly, whipping his head around. There are people everywhere, people Sam has come to know, strolling down the streets and playing with their friends and living their lives completely unaware of the WMD in their midst. “We have to get everyone out of the area. Now.”

“I’ll head to the car.” Dean decides. “I can warn everyone I see along the way. You should go the other way, get as many people out as possible. We’ll meet back at the bunker.” Sam nods an affirmative and turns on his heel, running down the street. He casts one last look over his shoulder and watches Dean disappear around a corner, ignoring the tightness in his chest at the thought that he might never see his brother again.

“Run! Get out of here! Evacuate!” Sam yells at everyone he passes, determined to get as many people out as possible, the red numbers on the digital clock still counting down in the back of his mind.

**2:32** ****

**2:31** ****

**2:30**

Sam keeps shouting warnings but no one obeys, and he needs to get them out but he doesn’t slow down and he doesn’t look back, because there won’t be enough time, _there isn’t enough time_.

The numbers scream in Sam’s ears and he lets them push him forward, faster and faster, until his eyes land on a little girl and he stops in his tracks, because he can’t let her die.

**0:15** ****

**0:14** ****

**0:13**

“Hey, what’s your name?” Sam asks, crouching down beside the girl—she’s sitting on the curb, licking an ice cream cone. The girl pauses and looks up, a curious smile on her face, and she opens her mouth to reply.

**0:03** ****

**0:02** ****

**0:01**

Whatever the girl’s reply was going to be, she never says it aloud, and Sam never hears it. The countdown in Sam’s head reaches zero, and the only warning he gets is a loud rumbling, like a train passing far too close for comfort. Then there’s a crash, like a tunnel collapsing, and a wave of heat and shrapnel hits Sam hard in the side and throws him back, away from the girl and out into the street. Sam’s head and upper back slam into what he thinks is a telephone pole, and stars burst across his vision as he collapses to the ground. Sam’s right leg feels like it’s on fire and his head is pounding, but he manages to fight off the darkness crowding his vision just long enough to spot the tiny body of the little girl on the windshield of a car across the street.

Then the black spots win, the pain fades away, and Sam sinks into unconsciousness.

* * *

Sam shivers, pulling himself forcefully out of the memory, shaken by the intensity with which the scene played before his eyes, as real as if it only just happened. A cool metal hand slides into Sam’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze, and Sam offers Bucky a smile of thanks before turning his attention back to the stage, where a Lebanon survivor is recounting the moment he watched the walls of his house collapse around him.

Sam never could have imagined two years ago that he’d find himself back in Lebanon now, on the two-year anniversary of the bombing, a guest of honor at the dedication of a memorial to the victims of the attack. Sam honestly wasn’t sure how he’d react to being back—his episodes of flashbacks have only increased in intensity since his memory started returning—but the technicolor vision of the bombing that he just experienced was actually much tamer than Sam predicted. Now that he’s endured the expected—but still uncomfortable—memory, Sam is free to marvel at the fact that he’s even here at all.

When the invitation first arrived in the mail, Sam thought it was a joke. The fact that there would be a memorial on the second anniversary of the bombing made sense, but Sam thought it was crazy that he’d actually been invited. And yet, when Tony reached out to the event’s organizers, they were adamant that Sam was just as much a victim as everyone else who was in Lebanon that day. He’d lost things, too, after all, and he’d been exonerated of the crime—as far as they were concerned, Sam wasn’t guilty, and that meant he deserved a spot at the memorial just as much as any other survivor.

Still hesitant, Sam had only agreed to attend when the Avengers promised that they’d come as support—and they’re all here now, sitting a few rows behind Sam and the rest of the Lebanon survivors, with the exception of Bucky, who Sam picked to be his plus one and sit with him. Sam and Bucky are in the front row, surrounded on all sides by other survivors, by people who think that Sam is innocent of the bombing and have no idea of the role he really played in it.

When the man on stage finishes his speech, Sam stands along with everyone else and applauds the speaker off the stage. The survivors start to mingle but Sam follows Bucky toward the rest of the Avengers, still uncomfortable being out in public in a world that thinks it knows exactly who he is—and is almost right.

A light touch on Sam’s arm stops him in his tracks, and as Bucky disappears through the crowd, Sam turns to face a woman with long black braids sitting in a wheelchair, a familiar look of curiosity on her face. “My name is Anita Parkson.” The woman says, smiling up at Sam. “I wanted to thank you for coming.”

Sam hesitates, recognizing the woman as the mother of the little girl he failed to save in Lebanon. Mikaela Parkson died of her injuries about a month after Sam was exonerated, becoming the fifty-third victim of the Lebanon bombing over a year after it happened. According to one of the many articles Sam has read on the survivors, Anita Parkson was permanently paralyzed from the chest down when the roof of an ice cream parlor collapsed on top of her. It was a miracle she wasn’t crushed—the other two occupants of the shop weren’t so lucky, and Anita spent thirty hours trapped with the bodies before she was rescued.

“I wasn’t sure if I should,” Sam admits, biting the inside of his cheek and casting a nervous look over his shoulder. He can’t see any of the Avengers, but he knows they must be there, waiting nearby in case something goes wrong.

Because in a situation like this, there’s a very good chance that something will go wrong.

Sam swallows hard and turns back to Anita. “Not everyone is convinced that I wasn’t responsible.” Pretty much everyone closer to the blast site than Sam was killed, which means that no one remembers his attempt to warn those around him about the bomb. And it also means that none of the survivors have any idea that Sam really did try to stop the tragedy from occurring at all.

Anita shakes her head and smiles again. “You’re a victim just as much as the rest of us. You lost your leg, after all, and you lost your brother.”

“Dean didn’t die, though.” Sam points out, and Anita laughs.

“No, he didn’t, but you lost him anyway. Lost him to the system.” She explains. “I don’t think it’s fair, that you two went through so much. Not only were you here that day, you had to deal with everyone thinking you were the bombers, too. The rest of us have had time to move on, but this isn’t over for you yet.”

A hesitant smile finds its way to Sam’s face. “It’s almost over.” He says. “Dean’s appeal was approved. It’s taken a couple of months to iron out the details, but he’ll be released into the custody of the Avengers during his retrial like I was.” Anita looks genuinely happy about that fact, and she reaches out and grasps one of Sam’s hands, holding it between her own.

“I’m glad you’ll be back with your family, Sam,” Anita says. “This horrible event wasn’t fair to any of us. I was able to put it behind me. I hope you have the chance to do that, too.” Sam is still trying to formulate a reply when Anita turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving Sam to stare after her in utter disbelief.

In the two months since he joined the Avengers, Sam has been slowly regaining the memories he lost. His memories of the Lebanon bombing and the days before it are almost completely intact, and for the first time, Sam remembers how hard he and Dean fought to stop the bombing from happening. He’s also been forced to remember, sometimes several times a day, the moment the bomb exploded, tearing his leg from his body and throwing Mikaela Parkson through the windshield of a parked car. The guilt Sam felt over failing to save Mikaela was almost overwhelming at times, and hearing her mother inadvertently forgive him is like a weight off of Sam’s chest.

As the crowd begins to thin, Sam looks again for the Avengers.

“There you are.” Sam turns to find the Avengers standing behind him. Bucky is the one who spoke, and he looks a bit sheepish, like he didn’t mean to lose Sam in the crowd.

“We lost you for a second there.” Tony teases, a note of concern in his tone. He pats Sam on the shoulder, then looks him over anxiously for any sign of discomfort. “Are you alright?” Tony asks, ready to whisk Sam away at the first sign of hesitation.

Sam smiles. “You know what? I actually am.”

And he really means it.


	2. Chapter 2

The carnage laid out before the team makes Sam sick to his stomach. Once, he dealt with situations like this with… not ease, but at least a sense of normalcy. But now, Sam has been out of the business for two years. And the Avengers see a lot of things, but this is far beyond even their skewed idea of normal.

The rest of the Avengers are looking to Sam, his insistence on joining them in Pennsylvania suggesting to them that he might know what’s going on here. And he does, but he wishes he didn’t. “No,” Sam breathes, the word barely a whisper carried by his exhale. His yellow eyes sweep the scene in horror, observing the bloodied bodies strewn in the streets, the lump in his throat only growing in size with every pale face he sees.

When he heard the Avengers’ descriptions of what happened the last couple of times they got a call like this, Sam knew exactly what he’d be faced with. But he didn’t think he’d have to deal with it so directly.

He didn’t expect the bodies to still be here by the time the Avengers arrived.

“All non-Avenger emergency personnel have been evacuated,” Steve reports, his voice coming slightly tinny through the comm in Sam’s ear as he and Bucky rejoin the rest of the group, their security sweep completed. “It doesn’t look like there are any survivors.” 

Sam nods slowly, the bright yellow glow in his eyes fading to hazel as he pulls down his mask and kneels beside the nearest body—a young woman around Sam’s age whose head is resting in a puddle of blood. “You should probably get out of here, too,” Sam comments mostly to himself, wondering if the bodies are still here for a reason. He turns the woman’s right wrist carefully, exposing a long cut on her forearm that’s smeared with blood. Sam’s grimace only deepens as he straightens, moving to the next victim and repeating the process. As Sam progresses through the town with the rest of the Avengers in tow, it becomes clear that every man, woman, and child has a single cut somewhere on their body that doesn’t match their cause of death. And every single mark is smeared with blood.

After he’s checked enough bodies to confirm his suspicions beyond a shadow of a doubt, Sam leans forward and scoops the body of a young boy, no more than five years old, into his arms. He straightens and heads back up the street, toward a doctor’s office he noticed upon the Avengers’ arrival. The rest of the Avengers trail behind Sam silently, unwilling to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the town—and aware that what happened here falls under Sam’s area of expertise, not theirs, and he’ll explain everything once he’s ready.

The door to the doctor’s office has been left slightly ajar, and Sam pushes it all the way open with his shoulder. He heads down the hall and steps over the body of a nurse to get into an examination room, where he carefully lays the boy’s body down on the table and heads back down the hall to the supply closet. When Sam returns to the main exam room, he finds Tony, Bruce, and Steve waiting inside—based on the quiet conversation in Sam’s ear, the rest of the Avengers have dispersed to keep watch.

Sam removes a syringe from its packaging and beckons Bruce forward, holding out the medical instrument. “I need to draw his blood,” Sam explains when Bruce takes a hesitant step in his direction. Bruce nods and takes the syringe, and as he draws the boy’s blood, Sam exits the room again, this time returning with an old microscope and a few glass slides. When Bruce offers Sam the syringe of blood, Sam preps three slides and puts one of them under the microscope.

The image waiting for Sam when the slide comes into focus is the last thing he wanted to see, and Sam curses under his breath as he pulls away from the microscope and casts a sympathetic look in the direction of the boy.

“Sam, what’s going on?” Steve asks, looking between Sam, the boy, and the microscope.

Sam waves unceremoniously to the microscope and says, “See for yourself.” 

Bruce complies and leans forward, looking through the lens and jerking back suddenly almost as soon as his eye touches the viewport. “His blood, it’s filled with something yellow,” Bruce says in disbelief. “Yellow clumps, like…” Bruce trails off and shakes his head, unable to find a comparison. Tony frowns and raises an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Steve, who shrugs, confused.

“Sulfur.” Sam supplies, shaking his head. “We should leave. There’s nothing we can do here.”

The trio of Avengers shake their heads almost in unison, all determined to save a town that Sam knows is far beyond saving. “Sam, tell us what’s going on.” Steve orders in the stern tone Tony often refers to as his ‘Captain voice.’ Sam scans the Avengers’ faces one by one, then his gaze shifts to the little boy’s body.

As he begins his explanation, Sam continues to look at that small form. “It never really had a name, so we called it Croatoan.”

The quiet conversation in Sam’s ear between Natasha and Clint ends abruptly as soon as Sam starts to speak, all of the Avengers giving him their undivided attention, waiting for another piece of Sam’s ever-shadowed past to fall into place.

“It was years ago now, over a decade, back when Dean and I were still looking for answers about my strange visions and the yellow-eyed demon who killed our parents,” Sam explains, sighing heavily. “I had a vision, a powerful one, of Dean killing a young man who was begging for his life. In the background of the room they were in was a sign that depicted the name of a small town in Oregon. River Grove. We headed straight there, and when we arrived, we found a completely normal small town. No recent deaths, no strange occurrences, nothing out of the ordinary at all. The only thing even remotely out of place was the word Croatoan, carved into a telephone pole.”

“Like Roanoke?” Tony asks curiously, earning him confused and slightly annoyed looks from Steve and Bruce. “The Roanoke colony.” Tony clarifies for the rest of the Avengers once it becomes apparent that they have no idea what he and Sam are talking about. “It was one of the first settlements in America. All of the settlers mysteriously vanished, and the only clue that was left behind was the word Croatoan, carved into the trunk of a tree.”

Sam nods in agreement. “It was the same thing in River Grove. Dean and I started investigating, and as time went on, the people in the town started to get violent. We discovered pretty quickly that the radios and cell signals had gone out, and when Dean tried to leave town to get help, he discovered a roadblock on the town’s only exit manned by a group of infected men.”

Sam isn’t surprised when Clint’s voice pipes up in his ear to say, “Infected?”

“The disease was spread by blood contact,” Sam says. “A single drop of infected blood transferred from one person to another was enough to corrupt them both, to turn them into violent, mindless killing machines.” Sam shakes his head, recalling the deranged behavior of some of the townsfolk of River Grove. “Dean and I barricaded ourselves in a medical center with an ex-Marine, a doctor, and a nurse. We were the only ones left who hadn’t been infected, who weren’t acting crazy. It was the doctor who discovered that the infected people had clumps of sulfur in their blood.”

“What happened?” Steve asks. “With the vision?”

“Another person came knocking on the door, claiming that he wasn’t infected and begging us to let him in. I recognized him instantly as the man Dean killed in my vision.” Sam bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs. “We had no way of knowing if he was infected because the sulfur didn’t show up in the blood until after the victim went crazy. Dean wanted to shoot him to keep him from hurting any of us, but changed his mind at the last second.”

“And was the man infected?” Bucky asks quietly.

Sam shakes his head. “Four hours later, he was still clean. As it turns out, he wasn’t the one we should have been worried about.”

Before anyone can ask Sam what he means by that, Natasha speaks up. “There’s someone here. Civilian.”

“How is he acting?” Sam asks immediately, abandoning his story in favor of this new—and not very encouraging—development.

“Normal,” Natasha says. “He claims that he works in the next town over and just got back. He wants to know what’s going on, why the Avengers are here and everyone’s dead.”

Sam hesitates, recalling the part of his story he didn’t have time to get to. He knows that this man could be like the one Dean almost killed, someone who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time and avoided getting infected. Sam also knows that there’s a reason the bodies didn’t disappear before the Avengers arrived, and this man showing up now is one hell of a coincidence.

Sam has never been one for coincidences.

"You all need to keep your distance,” Sam says urgently, jogging out of the examination room. After a minute, he hears Tony, Steve, and Bruce trailing behind him. Outside, Natasha, Clint, and Bucky are waiting, along with a tall man wearing a suit and holding a briefcase. 

Sam and the man lock eyes and stare at each other for a long moment, neither one blinking. In Sam’s ear, Bucky whispers, “Sam, your mask.” Sam doesn’t react, but he feels the Avengers exchanging worried looks as they realize as one that Sam never pulled his mask back up. He’s exposed his identity to this man.  
  


Only Sam knows that it likely doesn’t matter.

“What happened?” The man asks, an uncertainty to his tone that is emphasized by the briefcase that bangs against his knee as it shakes. “I got back from work and my wife, my daughter…” The man trails off, breaking eye contact with Sam to look at two of the bodies lying on the sidewalk to Sam’s left.

“Lie,” Sam says sharply just as Natasha vocalizes the same warning. The man returns his gaze to Sam and his expression shifts from horror-filled to devious.

Sam lifts one hand and freezes the man in place, then shakes his head. “No such thing as coincidences.” He says under his breath.

“Is he infected?” Steve asks, frowning. “You said the infected went crazy, just tried to kill people.”

“That’s what we thought, too,” Sam says, ghosting his free hand over the long, thin scar on his upper chest opposite his anti-possession tattoo. “Until the nurse locked me in a storeroom and forced her blood into my body through a cut on my chest.” Sam watches the expressions on the Avengers’ faces change as they realize the implications of Sam’s words one after the other.

It’s Bruce who makes the connection first, and his words quickly fill in anyone else who hadn’t yet realized. “You were infected with the virus?”

Sam nods, studying the man standing frozen before him, face twisted into an expression of preparatory glee. “Back then, we didn’t know that my visions were caused by demon blood. Now that we do, I figure that’s the reason I’m immune.” Sam shakes his head. “To this day, I’m not entirely sure what happened in River Grove. As soon as we realized that I was immune, all of the bodies disappeared. Dean and I left town, and we learned a few days later that even those last three survivors, the doctor, the ex-Marine, and the guy Dean almost killed, had vanished without a trace. It was another town just… gone.” Sam drops his hand and the man straightens expectantly. “What do you want?” Sam asks.

“To deliver a warning,” The man says. “Azazel used Croatoan as a test. Asmodeus thinks it’s much more useful as an epidemic. This is only the beginning.” Before the man can continue, Sam freezes him again.

“Do you believe him?” Tony asks. 

Sam thinks for a moment, then nods. “This has Asmodeus written all over it.” He admits. “He’s right about Azazel using Croatoan to test me. Now, Asmodeus seems to be doing the same thing.”

“You think this is a test,” Natasha says.

Sam shrugs, eyeing the messenger standing before him. “I think it’s no coincidence that Dean is finally getting out of prison after two years, and suddenly a supernatural virus we haven’t seen in over a decade decides to make a reappearance.” Sam pulls his mask up and activates his demon sight, checking the brightness of the man’s soul and finding it to be in line with that of an ordinary human. “He’s not a demon, so we can hold him pretty easily,” Sam says, turning to address the Avengers. “There’s a reason this town had one survivor, and it wasn’t to deliver that message. I want to figure out what it is.”

Clint pulls a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and steps forward, grabbing the frozen man’s arm in preparation to arrest him. Sam waits until Clint has a firm grip before he releases his telekinetic hold.

As soon as the man is unfrozen, his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses to the ground. Sam watches in shock as the man’s body jerks, and Clint jumps back to avoid a stray kick. The seizure lasts about thirty seconds before the man goes still.

Clint kneels down to check the man’s pulse, but Sam doesn’t need to hear Clint’s confirmation to know that the man is dead. His soul has disappeared into the sky, leaving a dark, vacant body behind.

The Avengers look to Sam for guidance and he shakes his head, teleporting back into the doctor’s office. The five-year-old boy’s body is no longer on the table, but the slides are still on the counter and Sam grabs all three and pockets them, then returns outside to his waiting friends.

“It’s time for us to go,” Sam says. “The boy’s body is gone, and the rest will follow. If we try to take one, who- or whatever makes them disappear will just take it from right under our noses.” Sam turns and heads down the street toward the Quinjet. He hears quiet footsteps behind him as the Avengers begin to follow, one after the other.

As Sam starts to board the jet, a metal hand on his shoulder stops him. “Is that really it? There’s nothing else we can do?” Bucky asks when Sam turns to face him.

Sam digs into his pocket and pulls out the three slides, holding them up to the light. The red spots of blood on each slide have disappeared, and Sam knows that if he tests them, it will be as if the slides were never prepared in the first place. Sam shakes his head and smiles weakly.

“There’s one nice thing about Croatoan,” He says. “It cleans up after itself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update—I've been playing Animal Crossing all day and completely lost track of time.

On the morning of Dean’s arrival, the Avengers Compound is filled with noise. Tony’s robots are cleaning everything in sight, Steve is in the kitchen cooking a big lunch with the help of a more than a little hesitant Bruce, and Clint and Natasha are checking and rechecking all of the demon-proofing to make sure that it’s up to snuff. The only ones not bustling about are Sam and Bucky, who are sitting quietly in the central lounge.

Sam wasn’t sure what to expect from the Avengers’ first meeting with Dean—they didn’t exactly welcome Sam with open arms, after all—but he isn’t sure how to feel about what he’s seeing now. The Avengers seem anxious to make a good impression on Dean, and for the life of him, Sam can’t figure out why.

For his part, Sam’s anxiety has been steadily building ever since he woke up this morning with memories of black eyes and hellfire running circles around his head. Sam has been eagerly awaiting Dean’s release for months now, but now that the day is finally here, Sam is suddenly finding himself apprehensive. He can’t help but wonder if he and Dean will be able to slide back into the roles they’ve filled their entire lives. After all, this is the longest they’ve been apart since Sam went to Stanford, and they’ve both been through a lot in the past two years.

What if Dean isn’t the person Sam remembers? Sam certainly isn’t the same person he was two years ago. And despite the significant amount of communication—both over the phone and in person—the brothers have managed to have over the past several months, Dean still doesn’t know everything about what’s happened to Sam this past couple of years.

Which begs a much more worrying question: what if Dean doesn’t like the new Sam?

“Kid. Hey, kid.” A metal hand appears in Sam’s field of vision and waves back and forth a couple of times and Sam blinks, leaning back and turning to Bucky, who is wearing a slight frown. “Stop thinking so hard, kid.”

“Sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head and smiles softly. “You never need to apologize to me, kid, you know that.” Bucky leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Now, you gonna tell me what’s bothering you? Or am I gonna have to get Nat in here?”

Sam shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s just… what if Dean and I don’t get along like we used to? What if everything has changed?”

“You don’t want to lose your brother,” Bucky says, and Sam nods. “You won’t lose him, kid. You’re getting him back, remember? And from what I’ve heard about you two, and what I’ve seen when you talk, you’ll have no problem at all getting right back to where you were. It’ll be like he was right by your side the whole time.”

Before Sam can respond, Steve exits the kitchen and nods in Sam’s direction. “Tony wants you out front. Says he’s got something to show you.” Sam glances at Bucky, who shrugs, then stands and heads to the door with Steve trailing behind him. Sam steps out of the Compound and starts scanning for Tony, only to stop in his tracks when his eyes land on the car sitting in the driveway. Steve very nearly runs into Sam, who unconsciously takes a few steps forward to let Steve out of the building.

“Sam, you alright?” Steve asks in concern, but Sam only has eyes for the Chevy Impala sitting on the drive in front of him. Right about then, Tony rounds the corner from the direction of the garage, his black tank top covered in what looks like oil and a dirty rag slung over one shoulder.

Tony jogs over to Sam, a wide grin stretching across his face as Sam asks, “Is that…?”

“It is,” Tony says when Sam trails off, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve been looking since last Christmas, and I finally managed to track her down last week. She was originally impounded in Kansas, but when the lot closed down, she was sent to another one in Missouri. Transfer paperwork had the wrong name, which is why it took so long. I brought her here and polished her up nice and new.”

About halfway through Tony’s explanation, Sam remembers how to move and walks over to the Impala, looking through the back passenger-side window and quickly finding the small green army man lodged in the far door.

It’s really the Impala.

Sam makes it to the front of the car before his knees give out and he sinks onto the hood, shaking his head. “Oh, God. God, thank you, Tony.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony says, frowning. “I have to say, if this is your reaction to a car, I can’t wait to see how you react when your brother finally gets here.”

Sam smiles a bit at that and shakes his head again. “This isn’t just a car. For a long time, this was home.” Steve and Tony both look confused, so Sam hastens to explain. “After our dad died, Dean and I sometimes didn’t have the money to buy a motel room for the night, or we’d be on the road to a case in the middle of nowhere, or just tired, and we’d park the Impala in a lot or on a side road and sleep in it.” Sam smiles wistfully, recalling several such occasions. “Dean would stretch out across the front seat and I’d take the back.”

Sam pauses, taking a moment to examine the car more closely. Tony polished the exterior and changed the tires, and the license plate is missing—it was probably stolen while in impound—but the interior of the car hasn’t been touched, and Sam figures most of the things that make it unique—that make it the _Impala_ —are still intact.

“This car has been in my family since my parents were dating. My dad was going to buy a minivan for my mom but a stranger convinced him that the Impala was the way to go. That stranger was Dean, who had been sent back in time.” Sam laughs at the disbelieving expressions on Steve and Tony’s faces but sobers up quickly. “This car is one of the only things that’s been around my entire life. One of my only constants.” Sam shakes his head and grins. “Dean’s going to be happier to see her than I was. He loves this car more than pretty much anything else in the world.”

Tony grins, pulling the Impala’s keys out of his pocket and tossing them to Sam, who snatches them out of the air and revels at the feeling of holding those keys again. “A man after my own heart,” Tony says. “I’m liking Dean already. I can’t wait to meet the infamous older brother."

“You won’t have to wait long.” Steve points down the long driveway leading to the compound’s gates, where a taxi is waiting. “It looks like he’s here.”

Steve heads inside to tell the rest of the Avengers and Sam follows Tony down the driveway, spinning the Impala’s keyring around his finger. When they’re about twenty feet from the gate, the back door of the taxi opens and Dean steps out. He grabs an army green duffel bag and shuts the door, then pulls a couple crumpled fives out of his back pocket. As the taxi driver is rolling down his window to accept the cash, Tony opens the gate and steps through, interrupting the monetary exchange.

“I know you’re new here, so I’ll give you a pass this time,” Tony says with a grin, pulling out his wallet and handing the taxi driver two twenties. Dean and Tony step back, allowing the taxi to turn around and leave. As they watch it go, Tony says, “For future reference, I can handle the fare.”

Dean shoves the cash back into his pocket and shrugs, then gives Tony a once-over. Sam watches in amusement as Tony tenses under Dean’s analytical gaze, clearly unsure how to act around Sam’s big brother.

After a minute, during which Dean continues to stare critically at Tony, Sam decides to intervene. “Leave him alone, Dean,” Sam says with a shake of his head. “Your tough guy act won’t work here, they already know too much.”

In an instant, Dean’s entire demeanor changes. He relaxes his stance and grins, green eyes sparkling as he holds out one hand for Tony to shake.

“And here I thought Sam was the only one who could do that,” Tony comments as he shakes Dean’s hand.

“Where do you think he got it from?” Dean asks, lowering his hand and finally turning his attention to Sam.

Five seconds later, Sam is being crushed in a familiar embrace.

Unlike the last time the brothers saw each other in person, Sam is able to hug his brother back, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and burying his face in Dean’s neck. It’s a type of hug saved for rare occasions, after near-death experiences and turbulent cases and nights filled with torture and hellfire. It’s an embrace that Sam strongly associates with relief, with safety, with comfort. It’s a hug that symbolizes the end of the bad times and the beginning of a new chapter.

Sam savors the moment for as long as it lasts. When the brothers pull apart, they spend a long moment just staring at each other, taking in each other’s presence. As usual, it’s Dean who breaks the silence, a mischievous grin stretching across his face as he says, “Man, you look even worse in person.”

Tony’s eyes widen but Sam just laughs, ghosting his fingers down the ugly scar that stretches across his face. “Penumbra’s way of making sure I never forget her,” Sam says—and only he knows the double implication of those words, his promise to himself that when he finally takes Asmodeus down, he’ll be doing it for Ciarra Haydes, too. “You’ve looked better, too.” Sam’s words aren’t that truthful: Dean actually looks great. He’s wearing a red button-down and a pair of pretty nice jeans, and his hair is cut and styled. Sam knows that Dean must have dressed up for this, which suggests that he’s just as nervous about meeting the Avengers as the Avengers are about meeting him.

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirks up and he holds up the Impala’s keys, letting them dangle from his fingers.

“Are those- gimme.” Dean swipes the keys from Sam’s hand and pushes past him, his singular focus now on the car at the end of the driveway.

Tony sends Sam a curious look as Dean jogs toward the Impala, and Sam laughs. “Told you he’d be happier to see the car than me.” Sam heads down the driveway with Tony on his heels, and they arrive at the Impala just in time to catch the tail end of Dean’s passionate speech about how sorry he is for letting ‘Baby’ get impounded for two full years.

“Hope you don’t mind that I polished her up a bit,” Tony says, briefly drawing Dean’s eyes away from his beloved car. “Gathered a bit of dust in impound.”

“You found her?” Dean asks, and Tony nods. Dean grins widely, then shoves the Impala’s keys into his pocket and turns to Sam. “We’re going for a ride as soon as introductions are over with, you hear me? It’s been way too long since I’ve been behind the wheel of a car.” Sam nods his assent and gestures to the door, which Tony scrambles to open. Dean raises an eyebrow, silently asking about Tony’s desire to please, and Sam shrugs, conveying his lack of an answer. Dean smirks and shakes his head, then points at Sam—and no words are passed between them, but Sam hears Dean’s voice in his head saying, _“They’re trying to please_ you _.”_

Inside, Sam and Dean find the entirety of the Avengers team waiting. Bucky hasn’t moved from his chair, but Steve, Clint, Bruce, and Tony have joined him in the seating area. Tony is the only one standing—or, more accurately, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed—and he lifts one hand in a silent hello as Dean treats the rest of the Avengers to the same analytical once-over Tony endured outside.

“Dean, Avengers. Avengers, Dean.” Sam waves his hand unceremoniously between his two families, a bit discomforted by their union. He spent so long trying to keep his hunting life separate from his superhero life, and while that already failed spectacularly almost a year ago, seeing Dean in the Avengers Compound is a blending of Sam’s two worlds that he wasn’t fully prepared for.

Dean meets the eyes of each Avenger in turn, his gaze lingering on Bucky for a long moment as something significant passes between them. Then, Dean gives Bucky a nod of acknowledgment, steel sliding over his gaze. Bucky returns the nod, metal hand tensing slightly, and Sam wonders what exactly just passed between them.

When Dean looks at Sam, Sam asks the question with his eyes. In reply, Dean’s eyes dart to his wrist, then to the empty kitchen— _“I’ll tell you later.”_ Dean’s gaze slide past the kitchen to the pool table tucked into one corner, and an interested glint in Dean’s eyes tells Sam that his brother is probably going to try to hustle at least a couple of Avengers in the next few hours.

Sure enough, Dean turns his attention to the Avengers, offers up a trademark grin, and says, “Got any beer?”

* * *

Ten minutes later, most of the Avengers have a drink of some kind in their hand and Dean is fifteen dollars richer and halfway through his second beer. Sam takes a sip of his tea—one of the side effects of the memory-loss medication he’s been taking since August is an adverse reaction to alcohol, so Sam hasn’t been drinking much as of late—and watches as Dean finishes up a slightly exaggerated retelling of the time he killed Hitler. Throughout the story, various Avengers have been shooting Sam looks, and Sam is starting to realize that despite his best efforts, the Avengers had no idea what they were in for when it came to Dean Winchester.

Sam’s realization is further proven when, following the end of Dean’s story, Natasha suddenly asks, “So, Dean, have you ever died?”

Sam’s eyes widen and Dean stiffens, sending Sam a curious and slightly annoyed look. “You told me they knew about the supernatural, but I didn’t realize they knew _all_ of it.”

“Not everything,” Sam promises, holding up his free hand in surrender. “There isn’t enough time in Thor’s lifetime to tell them everything. But I didn’t really have a choice on the dying thing after I scared them all half to death when I killed myself a few months ago.” As soon as the words leave Sam’s mouth, he winces. Sam hadn’t told Dean about that particular incident, figuring it was better said in person—and worried that the wrong person might overhear on the monitored call. But Sam had been hoping to have the conversation in private, not in front of the Avengers.

“And you didn’t think this was something I should know about?” Dean asks, his voice rising.

Sam sees Clint straighten and take a swig of his drink, clearly looking forward to seeing where this conversation leads. For his part, Sam shakes his head. “The last time you thought I died, you tried to kill yourself to bribe a reaper to bring me back.” Sam points out, ignoring the surprise on most of the Avengers’ faces. “And besides, I didn’t just randomly decide to stab myself in the stomach, dumbass. Penumbra killed Spider-Man and I had to kill myself to bring him back.”

“You know, I really miss the days when a sentence like that wouldn’t make sense.”

Ignoring Clint’s interruption entirely, Dean frowns and asks, “What’s the big deal about Spider-Man, anyway? The guy’s cool and all, but we don’t tend to kill ourselves for just anybody.”

“We try to avoid killing ourselves in general,” Sam says, sending his brother a pointed look. “And Spider-Man is actually a 17-year-old boy named Peter Parker.” Sam pauses. “Well, he’s eighteen now, but he was seventeen when we met. Nerdy little thing, got a collection of Star Wars comic books and Iron Man collectibles and he’s just about the nicest kid you’ll ever meet.”

“So you, of course, took one look at him and decided to adopt him as your own child.” Dean infers with a smirk. “And then when he died, you stabbed yourself, and presumably made a deal with Death herself to get him back.”

“And it worked. We’re both still kicking.”

Dean shakes his head. “We’re going to have to go back over what I missed, and I’m going to have to redefine what _important_ means.” He says, turning his attention back to Natasha. “To answer your question, yes, I’ve died, at least a hundred and seven times but who’s counting?”

“You’ve died over a hundred times?” Steve asks in disbelief.

“I mean, I don’t remember most of ‘em, but Sam does,” Dean smirks. “Word of advice, never piss off a trickster god, especially if there’s a chance they might actually be an archangel. Groundhog Day is a lot less fun when you’re the one resetting the clock.”

When he sees the looks of utter confusion on most of the Avengers’ faces, Sam decides to step in. “I was trapped in a time loop where I woke up on the same Tuesday morning over and over again, and at some point in the day, Dean died. Then I’d wake up again.”

“Like I said, don’t piss off any tricksters,” Dean says. “Although of all the ways I’ve died, his were by far the most interesting.”

“I wouldn’t call being mauled by a poodle or hit by a car _interesting_ , Dean.”

“I was talking about being hit by a falling piano, but okay, bitch.”

“Jerk.” The word is out of Sam’s mouth before he even realizes he’s saying it. The room falls silent for a long moment as the Avengers stare at Sam and Dean and Sam and Dean stare at each other.

Eventually, Bucky breaks the silence. “You talk about death like it’s a game.” He says quietly, a touch of awe in his tone.

"I mean, at the end of the day, we're all gonna die—several times over if we're particularly unlucky—so why not have some fun with it?" Dean asks, clinking his beer against Sam's mug and taking a swig. “When you live the life Sam and I do, taboo isn’t a word you can keep in your dictionary. After thirty-some-odd years of cutting off vampire heads and setting wendigos on fire, your view of death changes just a bit. Personally, I think there’s no point in pretending it isn’t inevitable, so I plan to enjoy the life I have, and every death along the way.”

The Avengers all stare at Dean, frozen in varying degrees of shock—ranging from Natasha, whose eyes are just a little wider than usual, to Tony, who is slack-jawed—as the elder Winchester brother excuses himself, citing a need to 'take a piss'. As soon as Dean has left the room, everyone turns their attention to Sam, who is in the middle of realizing that when the Avengers pictured Dean Winchester, they imagined a slightly shorter Sam.

Which, obviously, couldn't be further from the truth.

"You know, I never said Dean was that much like me," Sam says casually, taking a sip of his tea and smirking. "I mean come on, we're brothers, not clones. And there's a reason the FBI once thought he was forcing me to do it."

"He's much more... brash... than I was expecting." Clint comments, shaking his head.

"Dean's had a tough life, tougher than mine in some ways." Sam bites the inside of his cheek. "I got to be a kid, Dean is the one who made sure of that. I was raised into a hard life but I had him the whole time, had his love, and since I didn't know anything different that was enough for me. Dean remembers life before our mom died, remembers that night. He grew up knowing what he had lost and it made him who he is now."

"He's like... 2005 Tony," Natasha smirks. "Sarcasm, alcoholism, and a knack for cars."

"I'm not sure how much of that can be considered a compliment, but I'll take what I can get," Tony says, raising his glass in Natasha's direction and earning himself a scowl from the redhead as a result.

"That's actually not an entirely inaccurate comparison," Sam admits. "Dean has always used his sense of humor as a defense mechanism. He may be a bit... crass at times, but he's got one hell of a brain and an even bigger heart."

"I guess, after knowing you for so long without ever really knowing him, we kind of expected the real Dean Winchester to be... I don't know..." Steve trails off, furrowing his brows.

"Quieter?" Dean questions as he strides back into the room. "I get it. I don't tend to make the best impression on people who have the misfortune of meeting Sammy first. Especially when that meeting happens two hours after I'm released from prison."

"Conditional release." Steve reminds Dean—and everyone else, Sam supposes—with a shake of his head. "Technically, one of those conditions is that you can't have alcohol."

"And I'm sure another is that I can't do anything illegal but I've already hustled two of you out of a few bucks." Dean comments. "Oh, and I may or may not have broken into that locked room at the end of the hall just now when I said I was going to the bathroom." Dean earns a few incredulous looks from that and shrugs, raising his hands placatingly. "What? I was curious."

"That's Tony's lab, Dean," Sam says, shaking his head. "Most of the Avengers don't even have access to it, and JARVIS is supposed to keep them from even trying."

"If I may, young sir, your brother is particularly talented with electronics," JARVIS interjects helpfully.

Sam glares at his brother. "Please don't mess with JARVIS again." Dean nods, still grinning.

"Back up, Dean broke into Tony's lab in the amount of time it takes to use the bathroom, and he managed to keep JARVIS from alerting us?" Clint asks.

"Wasn't that hard," Dean says. "I've been rewiring radios and things since I was four, a fancy keypad and a British alarm system aren't hard to bypass if you know which wires to cross."

Sam expects Tony to complain about having to fix Dean's mess or even just send him back to prison to get him out of his hair, but instead Tony just returns Dean's grin. "You know, you're not nearly as bad as the internet seems to think."

“Thank you,” Dean says proudly. “I’m putting that in my LinkedIn bio: ‘Iron Man says he’s not as bad as the internet thinks.’”

Tony looks like he wants to say something else, but before he has the chance, his StarkPhone buzzes on the coffee table. Tony grabs his phone and puts it up to his ear. The longer Tony listens, the more serious his expression gets, and he ends the call with a single affirmative and stands, shoving his phone into his pocket. “We’ve got a problem,” Tony says, and the rest of the Avengers quickly get to their feet.

“What kind of problem?” Sam asks as the Avengers file out, and Tony stops in the doorway.

After he’s stepped to the side to allow Clint to pass him, Tony looks down at his phone, then up at Sam, and shakes his head. “Not your kind of problem. Moleman invasion in Kentucky. We can handle it.” Tony gestures to Dean. “Stay here. Give your brother the tour. Just try not to break anything—“ Tony looks at Dean and grins— “or break _into_ anything.”

Dean crosses his heart and nods, and Tony follows the rest of the Avengers out of the room.

And suddenly, for the first time in two years, Sam finds himself completely, truly, fully alone with his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time in two years, Sam finally finds himself alone with his brother, sitting opposite each other in the lounge and staring at each other. Sam wants to say something to Dean, wants to say everything to him, but every speech he’s planned and every word he’s thought goes right out the window when he finally finds himself sitting there, staring into his brother’s eyes.

Dean is apparently content to remain that way because the brothers don’t break eye contact for a good fifteen minutes, silently allowing their eyes to convey everything they can’t find the words to say. It’s been two years since they were last alone together, two years since they last had the chance to take each other in like this, but sitting here now, communicating without saying a word, it’s like no time has passed at all. Sam almost doesn’t want to break the silence for fear of shattering the illusion that everything really is the same.

But he has to because he knows that nothing truly is.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out of Sam’s mouth without warning and Dean’s head jerks up, his eyes widening as he processes the first words Sam chose to speak, now that they’re alone. A flash of utter confusion crosses Dean’s face for a moment, rapidly replaced by annoyance, and Dean shakes his head, scowling his characteristic smile that seems to Sam like it’s missing something important.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?” Dean asks, and Sam’s heart skips a beat when his brother’s joking tone falters and reveals a layer of scorn underneath. “It wasn’t your choice for me to be the one caught by the cops in Lebanon. It sure as hell wasn’t your choice to get kidnapped by a bunch of demons.”

“But I wasn’t with them forever,” Sam replies earnestly, finally finding his footing, finding his words. He knows what he wants to say, what he _has_ to say. In this whole new life that Sam has been building, the only thing he hasn’t been able to let go of is his brother—or rather, more accurately, the guilt of leaving him behind. “I only spent four months with them before I escaped. I should have broken you out long before your case even went to trial.”

“Yeah, and right about now we’d either both be on the run or both be in prison.” Dean points out, stone-faced. Sam frowns, biting the inside of his cheek. The words are exactly what he would expect to hear, but the tone is… off. Wrong. Like a piece of Dean is missing, but Sam can’t figure out which one. “You did what you had to do to keep yourself safe, Sam, how can I fault you for that?” Dean continues. “My job is to keep you out of trouble, and in my absence, you did exactly that.”

“But my job is to keep _you_ safe.”

Dean stiffens, his eyes locking on Sam’s. For a long moment, they stare at each other, neither saying a word, still as statues—Sam, surprised by the sudden shift in tone, is too wary to even breathe.

Then, the tension breaks. Dean relaxes back in his seat like nothing even happened, another smirk appearing on his face.

And this time, it’s every bit the one Sam remembers.

Dean’s smile stiffens just a bit and he leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees and giving Sam a look that has always signaled an incoming lecture. “No, your job is to be better than me, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.” Dean gestures to the room around them, following his hands with his eyes and scanning the room. He pauses a few times, on the pool table, the TV, and Clint’s video game console, among other things—things Dean probably hasn’t had access to since he was arrested in Lebanon. “You got to New York City and you built a life for yourself—more than that, you became a hero. Saving people, hunting things, you never stopped doing all that, you just started doing it different. Doing it right, if you ask me.”

Sam frowns at this, surprised, and Dean’s grin widens. “You’re catching bad guys left and right and you’re giving them justice. Real justice, not a bullet to the heart or a knife to the neck. An honest chance to redeem themselves.” Dean hesitates, his smile faltering. “I know I was never one for the justice system, but I have to say, after sitting through a trial of my own, I’ve grown pretty fond of the system.”

Sam’s frown only deepens. “But you were wrongfully accused. Wrongfully convicted. You spent two years in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean says. “But _you_ didn’t. And that’s the thing right there, Sam. You and me, we’ve always been the ones who show the world its sides. Good and bad, right and wrong, black and white. We’re the yin and the yang of the universe, remember? Michael and Lucifer, Heaven and Hell. My bad trial standing next to your good one will change things, I’m sure of it. And with the appeal, I’ll be back by your side in no time, so really there’s no harm done.”

Sam shakes his head, unable to find the words to respond to that particularly eloquent speech. This serious side of Dean is one that has always made Sam uncomfortable: it’s a showcase of a side of Dean that most people never get to see, and Sam only ever sees it when there’s something seriously wrong.

Rather than address his concerns, Sam decides to do what he would have done two years ago—everything is different, but there’s nothing Sam wants more than for his relationship with Dean to be the same.

“You must have had a lot of time on your hands the last two years, since you apparently read every philosophy book in the prison library.”

Dean’s grin returns full force and he laughs a real, genuine laugh that Sam hadn’t even realized he’d missed until just now. “Figured I’d spend some time getting to know you, little brother. I still don’t understand why you think reading is fun, though.” Dean stands and runs a hand through his hair, effectively declaring the more serious part of the reunion over. “Why don’t you give me a tour?” Dean suggests when Sam doesn’t immediately stand. “If I’m gonna be living here the next few months, I should probably get the lay of the land sooner rather than later.”

Two hours later, Sam has given Dean the full tour of the Avengers Compound, including an explanation as to several strange features of the compound and a brief break at the shooting range. By the time Sam has finished warning Dean not to touch any of the cars in the garage without Tony’s permission—although Sam figures it won’t be long before Tony lets Dean take the muscles cars for a spin whenever he likes—it’s well past lunch and almost time for dinner, and Dean’s ever-empty stomach is making itself heard. Sam is about to suggest they return to the kitchen and prepare something when Dean exits the garage and pulls the Impala’s keys out of his pocket.

“I haven’t driven her in years, Sammy,” Dean says when he sees the expression on Sam’s face. “Let’s go out. You’ve spent two years in New York, you must have found at least one good bar.” Dean is already getting into the Impala by the time he finishes his sentence, and Sam shakes his head and climbs into the passenger side.

Sitting down in the Impala is another familiar feeling Sam sorely missed, and he takes a moment to relish in it before he replies. “I actually do know of one,” Sam says, ignoring the look of faux disbelief that appears on Dean’s face. “The catch is, it’s in Manhattan.”

Dean grins. “That’s only, what, a three-hour drive?”

“More like four.” Sam corrects, fully aware that the details won’t do anything to stop his brother. After a lifetime of cross-country drives, four hours is nothing, and Sam knows that after two years locked in a four-by-four cell, Dean would drive nonstop to California if he could.

As expected, Dean’s grin widens and he says, “Let’s do it.”

Five minutes later, Sam and Dean Winchester are back on the open road, and for a brief moment, it’s like nothing has changed at all.


	5. Chapter 5

For Sam, returning to Manhattan as himself for the first time in months—while Darkside has been coming to town daily, Sam Winchester hasn’t been seen in NYC since he moved to the Avengers Compound—is surprisingly uneventful. For Dean, it’s anything but.

The number of heads turned by the Impala—a symbol now permanently associated with the Winchester brothers—as it cruises down the streets of Hell’s Kitchen is rivaled only by the amount of attention Dean gets when he steps out of the car, an easy grin affixed to his face that refuses to falter. Sam’s presence in Manhattan has become relatively ignorable, normalized by his time at Avengers Tower and the efforts of the Defenders and Co. to convince New Yorkers of his innocence. Now, seeing Sam Winchester on the streets of Manhattan is about as exciting as seeing a B-list celebrity—he draws attention, sure, but he’s left pretty much alone.

Dean, on the other hand, is getting the same kind of attention as an Avenger—and _not_ in a good way.

From the second Dean hits the sidewalk, all eyes are on him. Sam is reminded of the last day of his trial, when every head in the crowd outside the courthouse was in sync, moving together to follow Sam up the steps and into the building. But now, the eyes move right past Sam like he isn’t even there, focusing on Dean with an intensity that makes Sam uncomfortable despite not even being at the receiving end.

Sam isn’t surprised by any of this—it’s the reason he was hesitant about coming to Manhattan in the first place. What surprises Sam is how Dean reacts, or rather, how little he reacts. As they walk down the street toward Josie’s, Dean keeps up a steady stream of conversation, peppering Sam with questions about various establishments they pass and the dismal weather in New York and how Sam managed to survive this long in a city with so much traffic. If Dean notices the attention he’s getting, he doesn’t show it—or maybe, after two years of the world thinking he’s a terrorist, Dean has mastered the art of ignoring the stares.

After what feels surprisingly like a walk of shame, Josie’s is a welcome change. When they reach the bar, Sam opens the door and ushers Dean inside, desperate to get away from the eyes that feel like they’re coming from every direction. Inside, the brothers are greeted by a few brief glances and a welcoming grunt from Josie, and then they’re left entirely alone.

Dean spends about five minutes just standing in the doorway, scanning the establishment with a practiced eye. “This place is awesome,” Dean finally declares, turning to Sam with a wide grin stretching across his face. “And totally not you.”

“I was introduced by a friend,” Sam replies, directing Dean to a booth in the back corner and gesturing to Josie for a couple of beers.

“How often do you come here, exactly?” Dean asks after Josie has delivered the drinks.

Sam takes a moment to pop the cap of one of the bottles and pass it to his brother before he answers, “In case you haven’t noticed, this is the only place in Manhattan where I don’t have to worry about the entire world stopping to stare.”

“Trust me, I noticed,” Dean replies, taking the bottle and downing half of it in a single swig. “Are we more popular than I remember, or are New Yorkers just rude?”

To his own surprise, Sam actually laughs. “Between your two years as a terrorist and my residence with the Avengers, we’re basically celebrities.”

Dean finishes off his drink and glances at the second, clearly wondering if it’s also for him. Sam shakes his head and passes the bottle to Dean, then raises his hand for another. When Dean’s confusion only intensifies, Sam grins.

“I thought you didn’t drink anymore,” Dean says. Sam shakes his head and accepts the beer from Josie, then pops off the cap and takes a small sip. Sam hasn’t been drinking recently because combining alcohol with his meds usually knocks him out hard within a couple of hours. But for the first time in a while, Sam is willing to risk it.

This time, he knows his big brother will be watching his back while he sleeps.

* * *

About an hour later, Sam is already feeling the effects of the alcohol, and Dean has clearly taken notice. After several minutes of Sam blinking hard and shaking his head in an attempt to stay awake, Dean finally says, “You know, you were a lightweight before, but this is taking it to a whole new level.”

Sam shakes his head again. “It’s my meds,” He explains. “For the memory loss. They don’t do much alone, but combine them with alcohol and it’s like a horse tranquilizer. I’m out like a light.”

“We should go, then.” Dean is already on his feet by the time Sam realizes what he said, grabbing their empty bottles—three for Dean and one for Sam—and bringing them over to the bar for Josie to dispose of. “Let’s get you home before you conk out on me,” Dean continues when he returns. “You’re too big for me to carry back to the car.”

Sam smiles at that, standing and heading up to the bar to pay with Dean hovering protectively beside him. Sam's hand is halfway to his pocket before he remembers that he no longer carries a wallet. Dean pauses, confused, and watches as Sam turns to Josie, smiling politely. "Put our drinks on Foggy's tab, please?" He asks. "I accidentally left my wallet at home."

"Of course," Josie replies with a conspiratorial wink, and Sam smiles gratefully, nodding and heading for the door. Dean trails behind him, following Sam onto the street and then into the alley behind the bar, where Sam grabs his brother's arm and teleports them both to the roof of Karen's apartment—a safe space for Sam whenever he finds himself in Manhattan, even though he hasn't lived in the city in months.

"You didn't bring your wallet?" Dean asks as soon as he’s oriented himself—which, thanks to his experience with Cas, doesn’t take more than a few seconds. "And who the hell is Foggy?"

"Foggy is Franklin Nelson, one of the lawyers who got you out of prison," Sam says, running a hand through his hair as he sits down on the edge of the roof. "And I haven't carried a wallet since I moved into Avengers Tower. I had one before that, a cheap fake leather thing, but I mostly carried it for show."

There’s a long moment where Dean just stands silently, clearly thinking hard about something. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Sam, how much money did you have in those six months you spent on the street?" Dean asks, although he sounds like he doesn't really want to know the answer.

"When Matt gave me the wallet in mid-February, there was 40 dollars in it," Sam says, pausing. "Jody gave me a couple more twenties each time she saw me, so I guess around one-seventy?"

"You lived off of less than thirty dollars a month?" Dean asks—Sam isn't surprised by his brother's quick math, as that's always been one of Dean's strong suits.

"Well, I was living on the streets, so I didn't need to pay for a motel." Sam points out. "I didn't have a car, so no gas money. And thanks to Asmodeus, I only need to eat about once every couple days. Most of the money went to bus tickets."

"Still, Sammy, that's not much money. Thirty dollars barely lasted us a week when we were kids." Dean says, stricken with something that looks a lot like grief.

"Well, I couldn't exactly do any credit card scams. Any illegal behavior, especially that could be connected to me, was too dangerous."

"And now?”

"Now, I barely ever leave the compound," Sam admits. "When I first moved into Avengers Tower, I wasn't allowed to leave unless it was for a court appearance. I either cooked food myself or ate whatever the Avengers were having, and my entire wardrobe was bought by Pepper. Even after I was acquitted, it wasn't like anyone was going to give a Winchester a job." Just saying his last name makes Sam flinch and Dean sits down beside him, casually resting a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"So you're living off Stark's money," Dean says, and Sam nods, face heating up when he realizes just how bad that sounds. He's practically a kid, or even worse, a gold digger, wholly dependent on the endless stream of money coming from a rich businessman—in this case, one who also happens to be a superhero.

Sam forces a smile that he knows Dean can see right through. “Well, it sounds pretty bad when you say it like that.” Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam drops the act, shrugging. “I guess I am. I think I’m getting a paycheck for working with the Avengers, but I don’t actually know where that money is going.” Now that he thinks about it, Sam is pretty sure Tony mentioned that he was planning to help Sam set up a bank account at some point. Since that was in August, and nothing has come of it, Sam doubts that’s still happening.

“At least one of us has a job.” Dean jokes, standing and holding out a hand. Sam takes it and climbs to his feet, ignoring the slight creaking sound his metal knee makes as it straightens. “So, how are we getting back down from here?” Dean asks, peering over the edge of the roof. “And, uh, where is here, anyway?”

“This is the building I dove off of to save a friend.” Sam says, figuring Dean probably saw the reports about that—an assumption proved correct when Dean swallows hard and nods.

“You knew that was going to work, right? Teleporting before you hit the ground?”

Sam hesitates, then says, “I was pretty sure.”

Dean scowls. “I’m gonna need something better than ‘pretty sure.’”

Sam smirks, reaching out and resting one hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Really pretty sure.” He says, teleporting them both back to the ground. Dean’s scowl deepens for a moment, then falters. And then, both brothers are laughing.

And they laugh and joke the entire walk back to the car, and this time, ignoring the stares comes as easily to Sam as it does to Dean. And when Dean pulls away from the road and starts the four-hour drive back to the Avengers Compound, Sam drifts off to the familiar sounds of classic rock and a rumbling engine.


	6. Chapter 6

The smirk on Dean's face has just a hint of evil in it as he circles his brother on the mat.

"I'm not going to make this easy, Sammy," Dean warns.

Sam cocks an eyebrow, offering his brother a grin of his own. "I've been fighting non-stop for the past year. I seem to recall you being otherwise occupied during that time."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean laughs, darting forward and just as quickly moving back without even trying to make contact. Sam doesn't move, used to that particular trick—it's one Dean tries every once in a while, but it's also one that Natasha uses frequently. "I saw plenty of action in the yard. You know how many psychopaths there were in that place? Demons I get...”

"...People are crazy." Sam finishes his brother's thought and steps back as Dean strikes out with a sweeping leg. A battery of punches follows soon after and Sam dances away, waiting until Dean has finished to drill a fist into his brother's stomach. Dean stumbles back a few steps and coughs before righting himself with a shake of his head.

"And here I thought you were going to be pulling your punches."

Sam grins. “I am. If I punched you full force you wouldn't get back up."

"And no one wants that." Dean agrees. 

Sam is the first to strike this time, dealing a blow to Dean's right knee that drops him to the floor. Dean lands hard on his left knee and twists, hooking his right leg on the ankle of Sam's prosthetic and sending the younger Winchester down as well. Sam kicks Dean in the face as he jumps back to his feet, his ankle locking back into place after a moment as Dean stands and karate chops Sam's neck. Sam takes a quick gasping breath and ducks the hands that come for him, head-butting Dean in the chest. Dean grabs a handful of Sam's hair and yanks it down, and Sam frees himself and drags his head to the side just in time to avoid a knee cracking his nose. When Sam bucks his head back up, he hits Dean's elbow, and the grunt that results tells Sam that Dean's hand just rebounded into his face. Sam takes a few steps back, pushing the hair out of his face as Dean glares at him—Dean looks angry, looks almost offended, but Sam can tell that there's no heat behind his brother's eyes.

"Is that all you got?" Sam taunts.

Dean laughs, shaking his head. "Is that all you got?" He mimics in a high voice as the brothers resume their circling, each examining the other for weak points and injuries alike—they may fight rough, but the last thing either of them wants is to actually injure their brother.

The door to the gym opens and Sam glances over, watching as Natasha slips quietly into the room. The whistle of wind past his face triggers Sam’s instincts and he teleports a few feet to the right, watching as Dean’s arm continues on its path and sends him spinning in a circle. Dean follows the motion around until he’s facing Sam, a surprised look on his face.

“Thought we said no abilities.”

Sam blushes and nods. “Sorry. Habit.” He rubs the back of his neck and waits for Dean to get back into position, then throws out a couple of practice jabs. “No more powers.”

Dean grins. “No more powers.”

A split second later, Dean is standing right in front of Sam, delivering a series of kicks that bring Sam down, hard. Sam grunts when he hits the ground but quickly recovers, rolling over and wrapping his leg around Dean’s foot. As Dean goes down, Sam jumps to his feet, dancing away from Dean’s retaliatory swipe and delivering a kick to his brother’s stomach. Dean coughs and curls up slightly, then springs up and knees Sam in the stomach. Sam doubles over and hugs his stomach, and when he senses Dean’s approach he drops like a rock, rolling onto his back and sending a sharp kick directly at Dean’s shoulder. Dean spins with the kick, then grabs Sam’s ankle on his way back around and does another spin, twisting Sam over onto his stomach. Sam rolls back over but Dean is already on top of him, holding Sam’s wrists down with his hands.

“Got you now, little brother,” Dean says triumphantly. Sam lifts one leg, knees Dean in the back, and flips them both over so that he’s on top instead. And unlike Dean, Sam makes sure to secure his brother’s legs, too.

“What was that?” Sam asks, grinning. Dean squirms a bit then sighs, curling one finger up to tap lightly on Sam’s hand. Sam releases Dean and stands, holding out a hand, which Dean uses to pull himself to his feet.

"Now I see why you fight so rough." When he hears Natasha speak, Sam turns to look at her and discovers that most of the Avengers are now standing at the front of the room. Sam doesn't know how long they've been there—surely for a while, knowing them—but he figures they saw enough of Sam and Dean's sparring match to learn another piece of Sam's ever-shadowed backstory.

"We don't have a choice," Sam says with a nod to his brother, who ducks out of the ring and heads over to the duffel bag Sam brought to the gym with him. "When you're fighting for real, you can't pull your punches, so we can't do it in practice, either."

"You say that like you've had to fight each other for real before." Clint comments.

"Sam." Dean's voice is clipped and slightly ragged and Sam holds up one hand without turning around, grabbing the towel that Dean throws to him out of the air and rubbing his face before dropping it on his shoulder.

"That would be because we have," Sam says. "I've been possessed by demons and by particularly angry angels. Dean's been a demon, nearly been a vampire. We've both had our fair share of spells cast on us and manipulated realities to turn one of us against the other."

"I know Sam's fighting style better than anyone else in the world." Dean walks over and passes Sam a water bottle, which he takes a sip from without even really thinking about it. "We have to know that if we were to fight for real, whichever one of us was in the right state of mind would be able to win."

Sam takes another sip of his water and frowns when the back of his throat burns lightly. As Dean continues to tell the Avengers about the numerous times the Winchester brothers have been forced to take each other on, Sam examines the bottle in his hands, half-expecting to find something less than healthy hidden within. But as far as Sam can tell, it’s just water. Dean pauses to take a big gulp of his own water and Sam shakes his head and follows suit.

Suddenly, Sam’s entire body feels like it’s burning. Fire races through his chest and into his hands and he drops the water bottle, hands flying to his neck as his throat closes in an attempt to staunch the flames. All eyes turn to Sam but he can’t speak, can’t do anything but fall to his knees, gasping and grasping for breath, fingertips burning like hot coals as they rake through the air.

Dean is by Sam’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees and running searching hands across Sam’s neck, practiced fingers trying to locate an obstruction that isn’t there.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks worriedly as Tony picks up the water bottle and looks critically at the remaining liquid inside.

Tony takes a sip and frowns, then, when everyone turns to look, shakes his head. “It’s just water.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he jumps to his feet, disappearing from Sam’s view as Bucky quickly takes his place. When Dean returns, he’s holding a fresh bottle, which he hands to Bucky. “Make him drink it.” Dean orders, his tone daring anyone to argue against him. Without complaint, Bucky takes the bottle, helping Sam drink some of it.

This time, the water feels cool as it flows down Sam’s throat, and Sam is soon able to grab the bottle himself and finish it off. When he’s done gulping the water down, Sam gasps, sitting up and coughing. The Avengers and Dean all stare down at Sam with a mixture of panic and relief painted across their faces. Bucky presses his flesh-and-blood hand to the inside of Sam’s wrist, checking his racing pulse.

“Damn,” Sam says eloquently, panting and shaking his head. “Not just water.” He adds between deep breaths.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean sounds genuinely remorseful, and Sam is surprised to realize that Dean’s eyes are shining brightly. He genuinely thinks he seriously hurt Sam. “Didn’t realize you had a bottle of the good stuff in your bag. You should really label that.”

Sam can’t help but glare at Dean. “I did.” Sam gestures to the bottle Tony is still holding. “The cap had a cross on it, but you took it off before you handed the bottle to me.” Dean looks down at his hand, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cap of a plastic water bottle. Sure enough, there’s a cross drawn on it in black Sharpie.

“Oh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck, then taking the mostly-empty bottle from Tony and screwing the lid back on. Dean holds out his free hand and helps Sam to his feet, then pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. “So, uh, let’s just forget this ever happened?” The words are spoken in a carefree tone but Sam can hear the worry in Dean’s voice and rushes to reassure him.

“No harm done.” Seeing Dean’s hesitation, Sam shakes his head. “I mean it. It’s not fun in the moment, but there are no long-term effects.”

The rest of the Avengers stare at the two brothers, clearly confused. “Hold on,” Clint says once it becomes evident that Sam and Dean aren’t planning on elaborating further. “What the hell just happened? Why did Sam just, like, get possessed for a minute?”

“Okay, that’s not even remotely what possession looks like. The movies tend to over—”

“Holy water.” Sam cuts Dean off and shakes his head. “Dean accidentally gave me holy water.” Several Avengers wince, recalling what Sam told them about his adverse reaction to the demon-fighting tool.

Tony looks at the bottle in Dean’s hand, then shakes his head. “Let’s not do that again, yeah? Maybe Sam should be in charge of his own drinks from now on.”

“Agreed,” Sam says, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go take a nap if you don’t mind. Drinking liquid fire tends to take a lot out of a guy.” Without waiting for a reply, Sam turns and heads for the door.

Just before he exits the gym, Sam pauses and turns back around. When he sees the way the Avengers and Dean gather together, conversing quietly, Sam can’t help but listen in.

The first voice he hears is Steve’s, saying, “We have to be more careful. Sam is pretty strong, but there are a lot of unexpected things that can take him down.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tony replies. “The guy’s got some interesting allergies.”

“We’ll keep him safe.” Bucky’s tone is cold as ice, and as he speaks, his metal hand curls into a fist. “No one will hurt him on my watch. Not even one of us.”

“We don’t have to protect him. Sam can take care of himself.” To Sam’s surprise, these last words come from Dean. Sam searches for his brother in the group and finds Dean looking right at him. Dean grins, and there’s a protective glint in his eye when he says, “We just have to be there to remind him that he doesn’t have to do it on his own.”


	7. Chapter 7

_ The sound of quiet footsteps wakes Sam suddenly, and he sits up in bed and looks for the source of the sound. Wind whistles lightly through the trees outside Sam’s window and Sam wonders absentmindedly why, when his waking was sudden, he doesn’t feel at all alarmed. When he turns to the doorway and finds Dean standing there, Sam understands. _

_ Dean has always been the only one who could wake Sam up without scaring him. _

_ Sam opens his mouth to call out to his brother but nothing comes out, and it’s then that Sam realizes he hasn’t woken in real life but inside of a vision. Panic builds in his chest as he wonders what exactly he’s about to witness. _

_ Little by little, Dean inches closer to Sam’s bed. _

_ Sam’s visions rarely last long and never end well, so as Dean approaches, Sam’s anxiety only grows. He doesn’t for a second suspect Dean of being the cause, because Dean is never the cause of Sam’s fears. Sam could never be truly afraid of Dean. _

_ It isn’t until Dean is at Sam’s bedside that Sam can see his brother’s face in detail. And it’s then that Sam realizes that Dean’s eyes aren’t green. _

_ They’re blue, shining softly in the darkness. _

_ A flash of silver—Sam can’t see it in detail, but he knows in his heart that it’s an angel blade—plunges toward Sam’s chest, and Dean’s mouth twists into a wicked grin. _

Sam gasps and shoots into a seated position, looking wilding around his room. The early moments of sunrise are filtering through the window, just enough light for Sam to see that his door is closed and his room unoccupied. Unnerved by his vision—with the exception of a few scattered visions of Avengers missions, this is the first one Sam has had since Peter’s death—Sam takes a moment to catch his breath and attempts to calm his racing heart with a few seconds of silence.

Once he’s sure that he won’t start hyperventilating, Sam puts on his prosthetic and climbs out of bed. The clock on Sam’s nightstand says that it’s just after five in the morning, so Sam figures that he’ll most likely find Dean still in bed—while Sam has always been an early riser, Dean much prefers to sleep in when between jobs. However, when Sam reaches Dean’s room, he finds the door ajar and Dean’s bed vacated.

“JARVIS, where’s Dean?” Sam asks, forcing himself to ignore the fear that rises in his throat at the sight of his brother’s empty room. Sam expects JARVIS to tell him that Dean is in the kitchen making himself breakfast, or in the gym practicing his shooting, or even that he left the Compound in the middle of the night on his own, headed to a hunt he didn’t want Sam to know about.

What JARVIS says is none of those things. “Mr. Winchester is in the lab with Sir.”

“The lab?” Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “Tony let Dean into the lab?”

“If I may, young sir, there is an explanation I’ve been informed to share with you should you request it.” Sam looks curiously toward the nearest camera, then nods for JARVIS to continue. “Mr. Winchester woke suddenly about three hours ago and exited your suite in quite a hurry. He encountered Sir in the central lounge and Sir correctly inferred that Mr. Winchester was in distress. It was Sir’s idea to invite Mr. Winchester into his lab, in which they’ve remained for the past three hours.”

Sam nods slowly, taking a moment to process that surprising information. Dean, like Sam, is no stranger to nightmares, and Sam isn’t at all surprised that Dean wasn’t in a great state when he woke up. What’s surprising is that Dean left the suite, and that Tony was able not only to talk to him but to figure out exactly how to calm him down.

The Winchester brothers learned to deal with their nightmares in different ways. They never talked much about them, but they always knew. When Sam had a bad night, come morning the library would be reorganized, by monster, year of publication, or author’s last name. When Dean had a bad night, another one of the Men of Letters’ cars would suddenly be in perfect shape and ready for its first ride in decades.

“What are they doing?” Sam eventually asks.

“If you enter your living room, Sir has given me permission to show you,” JARVIS says. Sam nods and heads to the living room, smiling to himself as he goes.

Tony knows how important it is for Sam to have the ability to make sure Dean is alright during his stay at the Avengers Compound. And Tony also knows how much Sam wants the Avengers to accept Dean into the fold like they did Sam. By having JARVIS tell Sam what happened this morning, and by giving Sam access to the lab security feed, Tony is showing Sam that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure both Sam and Dean are comfortable.

As soon as Sam sits down on the couch, the TV turns on. The footage JARVIS chose is from the main camera in Tony’s lab, installed in the center of the ceiling and capable of overseeing every corner of the lab from above. Sam watches as Dean deftly handles a holographic blueprint of one of Tony’s cars, a look of childlike wonder affixed on his face as he plucks out individual pieces of the engine, examines them, then places them back in the car’s body.

“Man, no wonder Sammy likes this place so much,” Dean comments as he tosses the car to Tony, who waves it away. “Don’t tell him I said this, but this lab is freaking awesome.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Tony says with a laugh, glancing at the overhead camera—a split-second acknowledgment that he knows Sam is watching. “Now, tell me, how does one get their hands on a 1967 Impala in such perfect condition?”

Dean grins. “You get it in 1967, of course. And Baby’s far from perfect. She’s been in as many accidents as Sam and me have over the years, and she’s got her quirks. I like to think it gives her character.”

Tony nods in agreement and says, “That car’s got more character than some of the people I’ve met. When I told Sam I’d found it, he just about collapsed where he stood.”

“Yeah, Sammy would never admit it to me, but I know he loves that car as much as I do.” Dean pauses, then shakes his head. “Well, almost as much as I do.” Another pause, as Dean stops for a moment to think. “It must have been hard for him, these last couple of years. Stranded in New York without anything to remind him of home.”

Sensing the change in Dean’s tone, Tony nods solemnly and pulls up a new blueprint—this time, it’s of Sam’s latest prosthetic leg. “I wasn’t there for almost the first year, but from what I understand, it wasn’t easy.” Dean’s eyes search the holographic prosthetic and Tony makes a copy, passing one over to Dean.

“How many of these has he gone through?” Dean pulls the prosthetic apart as he speaks, scrutinizing each piece carefully.

“JARVIS?”

“Young sir’s current prosthetic is his sixth iteration, counting the original you referred to as, quote, ‘some rusty scraps held together with Elmer’s glue.’” JARVIS says.

Dean’s eyes widen and he looks at the prosthetic in his hands, then shakes his head. “Asmodeus gave him that one, didn’t he.”

“Sam was on his third leg when he came to Avengers Tower, but he told me that the first one was a gift from the demons,” Tony says, jaw tightening. “It had to be surgically removed after it started breaking down. After that experience, I can’t blame Sam for requesting that the rest of his prosthetics be removable.”

“It was attached to him?!” Dean asks, voice rising. “That must have hurt like hell.”

“Asmodeus deadened the nerves in Sam’s thigh, so he couldn’t actually feel it.” Tony quickly explains. “Luckily.” He adds after a moment.

It doesn’t look like Tony’s words assured Dean much, because Dean’s face is still red when he says, “What exactly has happened to Sam since Lebanon? I want as many details as you can give me.”

“Shouldn’t you ask—“

“I _have_ asked Sam, and if he’d told me the truth, I wouldn’t have to ask you.” Dean cuts Tony off. “Tell me what happened to him. Tell me why he’s gone through six legs and why he killed himself a few months ago and why the hell he’s got that scar on his face!” As Dean speaks, he gets progressively angrier, his voice rising with every word. When he finishes, Dean is practically shouting, his face red. Tony turns away to gather his thoughts and, for a split second, Sam could swear that Dean’s eyes flash blue. Then, before Sam can confirm what he saw, Dean takes a deep breath and some of the color fades from his cheeks.

Tony sighs, then shakes his head and turns back to Dean. “I can’t tell you what Asmodeus did to Sam, but I imagine you already have a pretty good idea.” Dean hesitates, then nods, clenching his jaw and his fists. “A couple of days after his escape, Sam was found by Daredevil and taken to the home of a nurse. He had a multitude of small injuries, old and new, but the most significant were an assortment of bruised and fractured ribs and a stab wound in his stomach.” Dean swallows hard but gestures for Tony to continue. “While he was working with Daredevil, Sam’s most serious injury was the bullet he took to the shoulder, which I assume you also knew about.”

“Yeah, I had the good fortune of watching that one on the news in prison,” Dean says, his tone flat. “Really sucked when I figured out that Sam was the one behind the mask.”

Tony hesitates, but Dean stares him down, silently ordering him to press on. “As far as I know, Sam didn’t have any other major injuries until his arrest. He was on his third leg at the time, which was destroyed in the fight that lead to his arrest, and when he moved into Avengers Tower I gave him the fourth one. The Judge did some damage to both of you, as I recall, but it was Penumbra who did by far the most damage.”

At this, Dean’s face pales a bit and he nods slowly. “I think I can piece together that one.” He says quietly. “Sam got his fifth leg at some point around when Penumbra first showed up, right?”

“Yes, Peter Parker and I worked together on it.”

“And then Penumbra destroyed it when she burned down Avengers Tower.” Dean continues. “How bad was Sam hurt then?”

“Before she burned down the Tower, Penumbra attempted to kill Sam in the gym.” Tony glances again at the camera, then shakes his head. “Sam was suffering from a significant amount of blood loss, including from the wound on his face that eventually scarred. He insisted on helping my employees get out of the Tower, and was inside when it collapsed.”

“Sam was inside?!” Dean exclaims. “Why did no one ever think to tell me that?”

“Despite the fact that he was bleeding heavily and his prosthetic was destroyed, Sam came out of the Tower relatively intact. I suspect that his emotions were running high enough that his enhanced healing kicked in before we found him.” Tony shrugs. “I’ve stopped trying to apply scientific reasoning to anything that involves Sam at this point.”

“You know, that’s probably smart.” Dean agrees. “Winchesters aren’t exactly known for obeying the laws of physics.”

“Or biology.” Tony shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s when Sam got his sixth prosthetic. After the Tower, Penumbra turned her attention to Peter and ended up kidnapping and killing him. Sam killed himself to bring Peter back, then they worked together to stop Penumbra a few weeks later. Since then, Sam has been relatively unharmed. He’s gotten a few cuts and bruises in his time as an Avenger, but that’s par for the course.”

Dean nods, then smiles softly to himself. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Sammy turned himself into a superhero. And an Avenger, no less. I’m proud of him.”

“So am I,” Tony says. There’s a moment of silence, during which Dean reassembles the holographic blueprint of Sam’s prosthetic. “Dean.” Dean looks up, meeting Tony’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I know that Sam is your brother, and I assure you that none of the Avengers are trying to infringe on that.” Tony is speaking mostly into his table, his eyes averted from Dean, his characteristic confidence nowhere to be seen. “But over the past year, Sam has become an important member of the Avengers’ family, too. Barnes has taken Sam under his wing, Peter looks up to him like a big brother, and dare I say I myself have grown pretty attached.”

Dean smirks. “Yeah, Sammy tends to have that kind of effect on people.”

Tony looks up and nods. “I want you to know that Sam is a part of our family now, and we will stop at nothing to keep him safe. He means the world to us.”

“Good.” Dean returns the nod and he and Tony exchange a serious look. “Because he means the world to me, too.”


	8. Chapter 8

There's a glint of something sinister in Dean's eye as he throws the knife directly at Sam's face. Sam's eyes flash yellow as he sidesteps, grabbing the knife out of the air and spinning it around to throw back in his brother's direction. Dean doesn't move—doesn't even flinch—and the knife sails past his right ear, burying itself in the target directly behind him.

"I see you've been practicing." Dean comments, turning and pulling the knife out. "You've always had better aim than me, but this is ridiculous." He throws the knife again and this time Sam holds up a hand, stopping the weapon in its tracks inches from his forehead.

"In your defense, I've actually been able to practice." Sam points out. "You may have been able to fight in prison, but throwing knives and guns aren't exactly common there."

"True." 

Sam throws the knife back. It goes over Dean's head this time, sticking out of the wood mere centimeters from the tip of Dean's hair. When Dean turns this time, one hand goes to pull out the knife, and the other reaches for the top of his head, feeling around for any hair that’s now shorter thanks to Sam’s latest throw. Satisfied, Dean runs his hand through his hair as he turns back around, throwing the knife once more. Sam lifts his hand again, catching the knife by the blade as it flies at his chest.

“Your aim  _ is _ pretty terrible, though.” Sam teases. Dean lifts one hand in a rude gesture as Sam throws again, and the knife slips between Dean’s upper arm and his side and hits the target with a dull thunk. Dean scowls, lifting his arm higher and showing Sam the clean slice in the fabric of his sleeve. “Sorry,” Sam says, smirking unapologetically.

Dean’s scowl only deepens as he grabs the knife and throws it at Sam a bit harder this time. Sam stops it with his telekinesis once more, then lets the blade spin idly in the air as he looks his brother over.

“What?” Dean asks after a minute, giving Sam a quizzical look. “You better not have cut my hair with that throw.” Dean scowls, then reaches up and pats his hair again, searching for any missing spots.

Sam shakes his head, saying, “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” Sam opens his palm, and the knife falls neatly into his hand. “I’m glad you’re back, Dean.” 

Dean searches Sam’s face nervously, clearly expecting Sam to break some bad news following the unexpected remark. Eventually, Dean just shakes his head. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty happy to be out of that hole, too.” Dean gestures for Sam to throw the knife again. “Come on. Hit me with your best shot.”

Sam smiles and lobs the blade, using a touch of super strength to add some extra speed. The knife flies so fast Sam can hear it whistling through the air.

“Hi, Mr. Sa— Woah!”

Sam’s hand flies up and stops the blade about an inch away from the tip of Dean’s nose. While Dean goes cross-eyed trying to stare at the knife right in front of his face, Sam turns his attention to the entrance to the gym, where Peter Parker is standing, decked out in gym clothes.

Sam drops the knife and Dean swipes it from the air as it falls. After Sam has made sure that the knife never actually hit, he turns back to Peter. “Kid, you’ve got to be more careful. There’s a lot of dangerous weapons in here.”

Peter’s face flushes and he looks down at his feet, scuffing one sneaker on the concrete. “Sorry, Mr. Sam.”

“Okay, the first time I thought I was hearing a hallucination preceding my death, but now I’m sure.” Dean turns to Sam with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Did he just call you ‘ _ Mister _ ?’”

Sam smiles despite himself and gestures for Dean to join him as he jogs over to the door. “Dean, this is Peter Parker. Peter, this is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister,” Peter says, his voice a couple of octaves higher than normal as he stares up at Dean.

Dean smirks and holds out a hand. “Right back atcha, kid.” When Peter takes Dean’s hand and carefully shakes it, Dean’s eyes widen. “That’s quite the grip you’ve got there.” Dean remarks. He pauses, looks Peter over, then turns abruptly to Sam. “ _ This _ is the kid? This little shrimp is Spider-Man?!”

This time, it’s Peter’s eyes that widen. “Wait, how do you know that?! I mean, not that it’s true— I mean, what?! That’s ridiculous!” Peter’s voice rises with every word until he’s practically squeaking.

Sam shakes his head. “Peter, it’s alright. Trust me when I say that Dean knows how to keep a secret.” Sam gives Peter a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then turns his attention to Dean. “And yes, Peter is Spider-Man. Please try your best to avoid scarring him for life.” Sam sends Dean a significant look, attempting to convey the essential information that, while it may seem like Sam’s death a few months previous is common knowledge, Peter is still in the dark.

And Sam, Tony, and May decided months ago that they wanted to keep it that way.

Dean frowns as he judges the intensity of Sam’s glare, then nods. “Yeah, kid, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t go blabbing your secret to the world.” Dean pauses, considering. “Sam’s pretty much the only one I talk to these days, anyway.”

Peter nods slowly, looking between Sam and Dean with wide eyes. “Why, uh… Why were you throwing a knife at him?” Peter asks, looking at Sam with curiosity written all over his face.

“We were, um…” Sam trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. How does he explain to Peter that the brothers have used each other for target practice for years?

Dean’s features soften and he offers up a smile usually reserved for frightened children and Sam after a particularly bad nightmare. “Sam and I were practicing our aim.” Dean holds up the knife, then flips it in the air, catches it by the blade, and holds it out to Peter. “No one was in any danger. The knife is fake, see?” Intrigued, Peter takes the handle from Dean and pokes the middle of the blade with his free hand. To Peter’s—and Sam’s—surprise, the blade bends under the pressure of Peter’s finger, wobbling slightly back and forth.

“Oh,” Peter says, the blush spreading from his cheeks to the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Sam, um, Mr. Stark wanted to know if you and, uh, and Mr. Dean wanted to join us for lunch.”

“Just the four of us?” Sam asks, ignoring the incredulous look on Dean’s face at being called ‘Mr. Dean.’

Peter nods hesitantly. “Mr. Stark said that the rest of the Avengers were off-base for various reasons.”

Sam returns the nod, then looks up at the nearest camera, which is in the ceiling over the door. “JARVIS?”

“Mr. Parker is correct,” JARVIS says, drawing Peter’s and Dean’s eyes up. “Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are at a memorial service in Washington, DC, and the remaining members of the Avengers team are out of the country on a variety of missions for SHIELD.”

“Thanks, J,” Sam says absentmindedly, turning his attention back to Peter. “Tell Tony Dean and I will join you guys in a minute, alright? We’ve got to put everything away out here.” As he speaks, Sam takes the training knife from Peter, who looks down at his hand in surprise, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.

Peter looks back up and smiles brightly. “Okay, Mr. Sam!” He says, turning and exiting the gym as quickly as he came in. As soon as the doors have closed behind Peter, Sam turns sharply to Dean.

“When did you switch the knives?” Sam asks, holding up the training blade demandingly.

Dean grins proudly. “While you were distracted by Peter’s entrance, but before I joined you over here.” Dean takes the knife from Sam and walks over to the target the brothers abandoned upon Peter’s arrival. Dean pulls open the duffel bag he left next to the target and pulls out a real knife that’s almost identical to the training blade, then shows them both to Sam. “I figured that, regardless of who that kid was, he didn’t need to know that you almost skewered me with a real knife.”

“Thank you,” Sam says. “For swapping the blades, and for not mentioning my dying for Peter a few months back.”

“Wasn’t going to say anything after that look you gave me.” Dean drops both knives into the duffel and closes it, then scratches his chin. “I was half-expecting lasers to shoot out of your eyes, that glare was so intense.”

Sam sighs. “Peter doesn’t know. He knows he died, but he has no idea that I killed myself to save him.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he asks, “He doesn’t? How?”

“Billie.” Sam shakes his head. “When she brought us back, she wiped Peter’s memory. Everything between him taking the reaper’s hand and waking up back in his body is gone. His aunt and I decided that we weren’t going to tell him. It’s bad enough he remembers dying. I don’t want him feeling guilty over my death, too.”

Dean frowns but nods. “I get it. I would have given anything to hide a lot of shit from you at that age. Kid’s already got a hard enough life as it is.”

“Exactly,” Sam says, relieved. “So you won’t tell him?”

“Hell no.” Dean slings the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly a fan of teaching kids about death, although I imagine Peter’s had ample opportunity to learn that particular lesson.” At Dean’s questioning look, Sam nods.

“Lost his parents when he was pretty young, and his uncle not long before he put on the mask.”

Dean lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “I see why you like the kid. He’s a stubborn little guy, and I’m guessing he’s got a good amount of brains to go with the courage.” Sam nods again, and Dean smiles broadly, softly, genuinely. “Good kid, that one.” He says mostly to himself, and Sam starts to wonder if Dean is still talking about Peter. 

Dean’s next words answer Sam’s question before he can ask.

“Let’s go get some food in you, yeah? Can’t have you skipping any more meals.”

Sam shakes his head and voices a protest he already knows is being made in vain. “I told you, Dean, I don’t need to eat that much anymore. One meal a day is fine.”

Dean looks hard at Sam, then shakes his head. “Not anymore, Sammy. Not while I’m around.”


	9. Chapter 9

_ As the sound of the Impala’s engine fades into the distance, Sam smiles to himself and pulls out his keys. The apartment is dark but Sam knows it isn’t empty—the cookies on the kitchen island are still warm, and Sam grabs one and takes a bite as he heads for the bedroom. The bed is empty but the light is on, and as Sam enters the room, he hears the shower running through the bathroom door. Sam smiles again, finishing off his cookie and falling backward onto the bed, his eyes closed before his head hits the pillow. _

_ Seeing Dean again was surprisingly nice, and although they didn’t find their father, Sam is surprised to find that he was happy with the results. As much as he hates to admit it, he’d missed his brother, missed the thrill of driving into the unknown with classic rock blaring on the speakers, eating fast food in crappy motels and saving people from the things that go bump in the night. Sam missed the life he’d given up for Stanford, but he’d never trade what he has now for anything, not even Dean. _

_ He’d never trade  _ her _ for anything. _

_ Something hits Sam on the forehead and he flinches, furrowing his eyebrows. A second drop hits soon after the first and Sam opens his eyes, expecting to see a crack running across the ceiling, dropping water onto his head. _

_ Instead, Jessica stares down at him, blue eyes glazed and dull in death and a red patch steadily growing on her stomach, brightly contrasted against her white nightgown. As the fire begins to spread out from her body, Sam can only stare at those dull blue eyes. _

As flames explode around him, Sam jolts awake. He’s barely able to swallow the scream that threatens to escape, and to takes several shaky breaths for Sam to recover even a fraction of his composure. Once he’s regained enough of his bearings to figure out where—and when—he is, Sam looks up at the ceiling, yellow eyes glowing softly in the darkness.

“JARVIS, give me the full date.” Sam requests, aware that Tony has JARVIS alert him whenever Sam asks that particular question—although Sam’s issues with memory loss have improved significantly, no one wants to risk another episode—but unable to find it in himself to care.

“It is 2:14 am on November 2, 2019. Would you like me to call Sir?”

Sam waves dismissively in the general direction of the ceiling and shakes his head at his own ignorance. November 2nd is a date Sam rarely forgets and usually has the foresight to prepare for. Last year, he spent that night reading the book Bruce gave him from the library. This year, Sam was so distracted by Dean’s return that he completely forgot.

The door to Sam’s room abruptly swings open, and Sam turns sharply to find Dean standing in the doorway. Dean smiles weakly and holds up a pair of mugs—in the yellow glow of the room, Sam can see the steam rising from them. “Thought I might find you up. Want some cocoa?”

Sam gestures for Dean to join him, but Dean remains in the doorway, wide green eyes staring into Sam’s. Sam frowns, then lifts one hand and holds it in front of his face, noting the yellow color his palm takes on. “Oh, right. J, lights on.”

The room is bathed in soft white—although Sam didn’t specify, JARVIS only raised the lights just enough for Dean to be able to see—and Dean’s smile grows just a bit as he crosses the room to Sam’s bed, passing one of the mugs over and eyeing Sam’s missing leg.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Dean comments, waiting for Sam to swing his leg over the side of the bed before sitting down beside him. “The leg or the eyes.” Dean takes a sip of his hot chocolate and looks Sam over. “You alright? This has never been a great day for either of us.”

Sam hesitates, then shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek. “I, uh, forgot how much it sucked.” Dean nods sympathetically and takes an extended sip from his mug. Sam recognizes what Dean is doing but copies the motion anyway, savoring the taste of the chocolate drink and searching his memory for the last time he enjoyed his brother’s rarest treat.

Dean told Sam once that he found the recipe in their father’s journal years ago, tucked away in a pocket. When Dean showed it to John, he was stonewalled. When he showed it to Bobby, he learned that it was in Mary’s handwriting, a recipe she scribbled down at some point to share with her husband and looked forward to one day giving to her children. Sam’s memories of his childhood are filled with cocoa, a staple of special occasions and difficult days. As a child, Sam never knew where his brother got the ingredients. Now, he knows that Dean kept a coffee tin in his duffel that he refilled whenever he had extra cash.

“Do you remember?” Dean asks curiously, quietly, hesitantly. He doesn’t have to go into detail, doesn’t have to say more than those three words for Sam to know exactly what he means.

Still, Sam allows the silence to rest around him for a long moment before he answers. “I didn’t. Not at first.” Dean watches Sam curiously but doesn’t say a word, waiting for Sam to gather his thoughts and continue. “When I first found myself in Manhattan, I had no idea what I was missing, but I knew that I’d forgotten something. I knew something had happened to me, had happened to  _ you _ , but I had no idea what. I knew that Jack existed, knew he’d been with us, but I didn’t remember his birth. I didn’t remember Castiel, Crowley…” Sam trails off and bites his cheek. “I didn’t remember Mom.”

Dean smiles sympathetically, taking another sip of his cocoa. Sam does the same, looking down at his drink and shaking it slightly. A bit of foam swirls around the mug, catching on the rim near the handle. Sam takes a long drink and closes his eyes.

“Jody is the one who told me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on her face when I asked her where Mom was, where Cas was. She told me they’d died, that Crowley had died, too. That Lucifer had killed Cas and Crowley, that we’d trapped him in another dimension but Mom was with him and we had told Jody she was probably dead.” Dean gives Sam a curious look and Sam shakes his head. “I remember what Jody told me, what you’ve told me since then, but I don’t actually remember it happening. I know Cas came back to life, I know Crowley is dead and Mom is still gone and Jack is… somewhere. But I don’t remember that day.”

Dean nods. “You’ll remember, Sammy. It will come back eventually, just like everything else has been. And when it happens, I promise I’ll be there to help you through it.”

Before either brother can say anything more, the door opens once again, this time revealing Tony standing in the doorway. Tony looks at both brothers in relief, then confusion, then turns his attention to Sam. “You requested the date from JARVIS. Is everything alright?”

Dean also turns to Sam in confusion, but Sam looks at Tony and nods.

“Had a nightmare. Today’s… not a great day for me. For either of us, actually.” Sam gestures to Dean, who gives a sharp nod in agreement.

“Today is…” Tony trails off, checking his watch. “November 2nd. Which is the day Mary Winchester and Jessica Moore died.” Tony shakes his head. “Sorry, Sasquatch. I totally forgot.”

“You and me both,” Sam admits. “That’s why I was caught off-guard and had to ask JARVIS for the date. Needed to make sure I wasn’t just going crazy.”

Tony snorts. “You, crazy? That’ll be the day. You’re a lot of things, Sam, but crazy definitely isn’t one of them.”

“Well, not anymore, at least.”

Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tony look as confused as he does in the moment after the words leave Dean’s mouth. Sam shakes his head, a hint of a grin curling up the corners of his mouth as he sits back and watches his brother and one of his best friends both realize that there are several things they don’t know about the other.

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t know?”

The questions come in almost perfect unison, and Sam has to stifle a laugh when annoyed looks flash across Tony’s face and Dean’s in tandem. Tony and Dean stare at each other in silence, engaging in a battle of wills and both daring the other to speak first and admit that there’s something they don’t know.

After a full minute of staring, Sam decides to take pity on the pair and clears his throat, breaking their eye contact and drawing the attention of both men to him. “Tony, there was a period of time in which, thanks to some pretty major PTSD, I was suffering from severe hallucinations and was admitted to a mental institution. Dean, no, I never told the Avengers about that, because it isn’t exactly a period of my life that I’m fond of remembering.”

Dean and Tony exchange another look, and then Tony shakes his head. “You know, sometimes I think I’ve got you figured out, Sam, and then you go and throw me another curveball like that one. I’m assuming these hallucinations are no longer occurring?”

Sam and Dean both shake their heads, and Sam says, “No, after I stopped sleeping and nearly died of exhaustion, Castiel took on the hallucinations. He fixed my head, but promptly went into a coma and woke up with the brain of a five-year-old. Took us ages to get him back to normal.”

“Almost made up for the fact that he’s the one who broke your gourd in the first place,” Dean adds with a smirk, watching in amusement as Tony looks between the brothers in confusion, then shakes his head.

“Remind me to encourage you  _ not _ to write an autobiography. Ever.” Tony shakes his head again, clearly at the end of his rope. There’s only so many supernatural occurrences the Avengers can handle in one night, and Sam is pretty sure he and Dean have long since passed that mark. “I think I’m going to go to my lab and build another seven Iron Man suits while I try to process the latest installment of the insane supernatural soap opera that is your life.” Tony turns toward the door, then pauses and sends a sharp glare in Dean’s direction. “You take care of him, alright? I don’t think the world could handle Sam off his rocker with the powers he has these days.”

With that, Tony turns on his heel and exits Sam’s room. Dean shakes his head and finishes off his hot chocolate with one long swig, then stands. “Trust me when I say that’s not something either of you has to worry about.” Dean comments, looking down at Sam. “I’m not letting you go crazy again. No way, no how.” Dean pauses, then smirks. “Besides, if you did happen to lose that big head of yours again, I’d just steal your crutches and that fancy metal leg of yours. No way you’re getting far without ‘em.” Sam can’t stop himself this time, and a choked laugh escapes his lips. A satisfied grin appears on Dean’s face and he nods to the mug in Sam’s hands that’s still half-full. “Finish the rest of that before it gets cold, and then try to get back to sleep. If I have to make another batch of that tonight, I’m adding one of Romanov’s tranqs.”

Dean exits the room as quickly as Tony did, leaving the well-meaning threat hanging in the air. Sam smiles to himself, surprised to find that he’s actually enjoying the incessant mothering he’s receiving from both Tony and Dean. As physically powerful as he may be, Sam’s mind is not the strongest, thanks primarily to a life filled with supernatural trauma, a copious helping of emotional stress, and plenty of hits to the head. Lately, the cracks have been showing through, and Sam is just thankful that he’s surrounded by a team of people willing to help him patch the wounds and fill in the holes.

Thanks to Dean’s and Tony’s interference, it doesn’t take long for Sam to finish off his hot chocolate, lay back down on his bed, and slip quietly back into his dreams.

_ It feels like mere seconds have passed when Sam opens his eyes again, and the darkness his room is bathed in suggests that he’s only been asleep for a few minutes. Confused as to what woke him, Sam turns his attention to the door, where he finds Dean standing once more in the open doorway—the difference this time being that Dean’s hands are empty of mugs of cocoa. _

_ “Dean?” Sam asks, frowning when his words come out crooked, twisted and knotted like the trunk of an old tree. Sam realizes this isn’t real—a vision, rather than a live event—about the same time that Dean steps forward, pulling an angel blade out from behind his back and brandishing it in front of him. “Dean?!” Sam asks again, but the words stop short, dropping to the ground like stones inches away from Sam’s face and never reaching Dean’s ears. _

_ Sam imagines, looking at his brother, that it wouldn’t even matter if they had. Because this person standing before Sam now, it isn’t his brother. It’s Dean’s body, Dean’s hands, even Dean’s smile, but everything is wrong, broken, stiff. _

_ Dean moves forward, raising the blade more with every step, his face flat as he stares blankly at Sam without a hint of recognition in his eyes. _

_ “Dean, snap out of it,” Sam says, fear rising in his throat as he looks up at his brother, frozen in place by the intensity of Dean’s stare. The angel blade comes down, a flash of silver that lights up the room, but Sam only has eyes for Dean. _

_ As the silver blade finds its home in Sam’s chest, Sam stares resolutely into Dean’s shining blue eyes. _


	10. Chapter 10

As the days pass without further incident, Sam tries his best to ignore his recurring vision. He tells himself that there’s no way Dean would ever allow himself to be possessed, no way he could ever be tricked into possession, either, not with Sam and the Avengers to help him. But as time continues to pass and Sam’s vision continues to make itself known in his dreams, Sam wonders if, perhaps, there’s another possibility.

After all, Sam didn’t get the yellow eyes of a demon from possession.

When a call comes in to the Avengers about another town in peril, Sam jumps at the distraction and quickly volunteers to join the team. The team—minus Steve, who volunteered to accompany Dean to a meeting in the city with his lawyers and the prosecution—travels to Delaware and lands in a small town a few miles from the coast just thirty minutes after Tony received the call.

Sam thinks he’ll be prepared for what he sees. He’s wrong.

The last Croatoan-ravaged city was strewn with bodies, and this town is no different. The dead litter the streets, unseeing eyes staring in every direction so that no matter where Sam looks, he’s meeting the gaze of one of the fallen. But all of that, unfortunately, is par for the course where Sam and the Avengers are concerned. No, what stops Sam in his tracks—what causes several Avengers to swear under their breaths and inspires Tony to whisper a prayer in stilted Italian—is the blood that coats almost every surface, turning the picturesque town a sickening shade of red.

“What the hell?” Clint asks, the first one willing to break the astonished silence of the team gathered just outside the Quinjet. 

Sam swallows hard and tears his eyes away from the carnage, turning his attention to the Avengers and watching as, one by one, they all turn their attention to him. Varying degrees of disgust, fear, and worry stare back at Sam and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts, clearing his throat as he prepares to say the words that no one wants to hear but that, in this moment, are the truth. “I have no idea.”

With a shake of his head, Sam turns back to the bloody scene and activates his demon sight. In the blink of an eye, the red city turns orange, and Sam forces down the bile rising in his throat as he carefully surveys the surrounding area in search of any survivors. As he expected, there’s not a single white glow in the entire town.

“It’s clean,” Sam says, though the words couldn’t be further from the truth. Determined not to let the scene get to him, Sam starts to make his way through the town toward the center. He takes each step with care, trying to avoid the blood pooling around each unfortunate victim as he searches for one with enough blood still in their body to be of use to Bruce. It’s a disturbingly difficult task.

Eventually, more of the Avengers find the courage to venture into the town. Tony powers up his suit and hovers above the ground, using the power of flight to his advantage. Clint heads straight for the rooftops and dances across them, hoping to avoid the majority of the blood only to learn that some of the civilians tried to escape there, too. Natasha slips gracefully down an alley, and Sam stops for a moment to watch her form dance around bodies and puddles alike. Bucky simply steels his gaze, locks his jaw, and marches through the town, his eyes not on the bodies but on Sam, who waits in the center of town for Bucky to approach.

“This wasn’t murder,” Bucky says, his voice flat as he surveys the town square with gritted teeth. 

Sam doesn’t argue, having started to move toward the same conclusion, but Tony does. “What are you talking about?”

“A lot of them have multiple stab wounds or slit throats.” Bucky walks over to the body of a teenage girl, no more than sixteen, and gestures for Sam to follow. “I know what that kind of injury looks like when it’s murder. This ain’t murder.” Bucky picks up the body and heads back out of the town. Sam picks up the body of an older man who was lying near the girl and follows Bucky out. When they arrive at the Quinjet, Bruce is ready and waiting with two stretchers and a fair amount of lab equipment and medical supplies.

Tony, Natasha, and Clint make their way back to the Quinjet as Bruce examines both bodies, making a cursory examination as he draws some blood from each one. “He’s right.” Bruce declares once everyone is back together. “The girl’s throat appears to have been slit by her own hand, and the man likely stabbed himself four times in the stomach.” Bruce hesitates, then shakes his head. “I’ll need a second opinion, of course, but I’m fairly confident that this wasn’t murder but suicide.”

“Mass suicide,” Natasha says, a touch of tightness in her tone the only indication that the situation is getting to her.

Tony turns to Sam, a slightly hopeful expression on his face. “This isn’t Croatoan, then, right? They kill each other with that, don’t they?”

Before Sam can answer, Bruce shakes his head. “They’ve got sulfur in their blood.” He says, gesturing to his microscope. “This is definitely Croatoan.”

“Okay, so why did they decide to off themselves instead of going batshit on each other?” Tony asks, his voice rising as panic sets in. Sam understands where Tony is coming from—right now, they’re depending on Sam’s prior knowledge of Croatoan to handle the virus. But if Croatoan stops acting the same way, the Avengers will be entirely lost.

Sam doesn’t have to tell anyone that, so he decides to ask a different question instead. “Exactly how many cases of Croatoan have we seen so far?”

“Well, there’s the two confirmed ones you joined us on,” Natasha says. “And three citywide before that. So probably five.”

“And how much time passed between each of them?”

Tony’s frown deepens as he begins to realize where Sam’s questions are leading. “The first was almost a year ago. Second was six months ago, then three months. And the first one you came on was almost exactly a month ago.”

“It’s accelerating,” Clint says. “The cases are getting faster.”

“Or we’re just discovering them faster,” Sam replies, biting the inside of his cheek. “How many tiny Midwest towns with populations below a thousand can disappear before someone notices? There were no reports on River Grove. After Dean and I left the immediate area, no one knew anything had happened, and barely anyone even knew where River Grove was.” Sam scans the town again, noting absentmindedly that the nearest street looks a little less crowded now, a little less red. “This could have been happening far longer than a year, in far more places, and we’d have no idea. I spent most of my life traveling through towns so small they’re left off the map, and more often than not Dean and I were the first outsiders those people had seen in years. Who’s going to notice the disappearance of a town like that?”

Bruce frowns, his forehead furrowing. “Other small towns will.” When the Avengers turn to Bruce, he explains, “All of the cases we’ve seen so far have been in New England. Three have been in Pennsylvania alone. Croatoan is a virus, and it probably spreads like one.”

“I always kind of figured that the demons picked River Grove because no one would miss it,” Sam admits. “They needed a town no one but Dean and I would ever stumble across. If you want to start a pandemic, where do you put patient zero?”

“You drop them in the middle of the nearest metropolitan area,” Bucky says.

Sam nods. “If you want it to spread as fast as possible, then yeah. That maximizes contact spread and gets the virus all over the world very fast, but it also gets people’s attention fast. What if you want your virus to incubate? To spread slowly, unnoticed, so that no one even suspects it’s there until it’s too late?”

“You put patient zero in a tight-knit community and let human nature do the rest.” Tony supplies grimly. “If Croatoan has a pretty specific clock on how long after infection it triggers that whole murder-y episode, then small communities are more likely to let everyone get infected before they start acting out.”

Natasha is the only one willing to voice the logical conclusion to Tony’s statement. “And that guarantees that everyone ends up dead.”

No one seems to want to say anything more, either for or against the depressing argument the team as a whole has just made. For his part, Sam stands in silence, wondering just how far Croatoan has already spread. If Croatoan took out the second town six months after the first, then the incubation period has to be at least that long. Which means that by now, Croatoan could have spread all over New England without anyone being any the wiser.

Sam recalls his vision and some of Dean’s out-of-place actions in the weeks since his return, and a lump starts to grow in his throat. “The bodies disappear when no one is watching,” Sam says suddenly, changing the subject to steer his mind away from something he really doesn’t want to think about. “It’s already happening here.” Sam keeps his gaze on the two stretchers as the rest of the Avengers simultaneously turn to the town. Sam doesn’t have to look to know that most of the bodies have vanished, carried away by a mysterious hand that at least had the courtesy to mop up the pools of blood on its way out. Sam’s period checks during the Avengers’ conversation told him that already. So Sam decides to test his theory with the bodies lying right in front of him. “If someone  _ is _ watching, they don’t seem to go anywhere.”

Once he’s certain that Bruce’s eyes are back on the two bodies, Sam looks up at the rest of the Avengers. “If someone keeps an eye on these bodies, we should be able to get them back to the Tower to do more tests, or at least hang on to some of the blood. And if Croatoan has spread as much as we think it has, then we’re going to need to know as much about it as possible.”

“Let’s get these back to the lab, then,” Tony says. “Romanoff, Barton, you’ve got the girl. Don’t let her leave your sight. Barnes and I will handle the man. Sam, Bruce, get to work. We need to figure out as much as we can about Croatoan as soon as we can because if the trend continues, the next town is going to disappear in two weeks.” Bucky and Clint each take one stretcher and start loading them into the Quinjet. Natasha helps Bruce gather his supplies and they head into the plane as well, leaving Tony and Sam alone outside. Sam does one final scan of the town, sweeping his gaze back and forth and watching as, with every wave, more and more of the blood and the bodies disappear.

While Sam conducts his silent examination, Tony scrutinizes him closely.

“Do you think we can beat it?” Tony eventually asks. 

Sam turns away from the disappearing town and bites his cheek. “I don’t know.” Sam shakes his head, then turns back to the town. This time, he can’t see a single body lying in the streets. And though he’s too far away to tell, Sam imagines that the town has been wiped clean of blood. Sam looks at Tony and offers up a smile. “But I do know this: I’ve been fighting against demons since before I even knew what they were. I haven’t lost against them yet. And I don’t plan on starting now.”


	11. Chapter 11

By the time the team gets back to the Avengers Compound, it has become abundantly clear that they are far from prepared.

The man disappears first, there one second and gone the next. Sam is studying the blood taken from the girl with Bruce when he hears Tony’s exclamation, and it takes all the willpower in Sam’s body to keep his eyes on the microscope slide when Bruce whips his head around. Sam manages to keep his eyes on the prize as Tony and Bucky argue over who was at fault while Bruce, ever the mediator, tries to keep them from tearing out each other’s throats.

It isn’t until Bucky has stalked off into the cockpit that Bruce acknowledges that the girl’s body is gone, too.

Once they land, Bruce, Tony, and Sam transport the vials of blood—now the only remaining evidence of the second Croatoan wipeout—to Tony’s lab, while Natasha, Clint, and Bucky rack up their weapons. Tony commandeers one vial and sets it aside, asking JARVIS to keep a close eye on it in order to test whether or not a mechanical eye can keep the Croatoan victims from disappearing. Bruce and Sam set the rest up in the middle of Tony’s lab, where it’s nearly impossible for no eyes to be on them. After establishing that, until further notice, Sam will be staring unblinkingly at the vials of blood in the center of the room, Tony suggests that they call in reinforcements.

“And who exactly do you suggest?” Bruce asks, his tone not sarcastic so much as tired. “Other than Sam, how many people do we know with any experience in supernatural diseases.”

“Well, uh, no one, technically,” Tony replies, and although Sam can’t see him, it isn’t hard to picture the way Tony strokes his chin. “But we  _ do _ know someone with experience with both the supernatural and diseases.”

Bruce sits down across from Sam, who catches his headshake out of the corner of his eye. “You really think we should call Strange?”

Tony’s phone is already in his hand before Bruce has finished asking the question. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

* * *

Thanks to his own unique brand of teleportation, it doesn’t take long for Dr. Strange to make his way to Tony’s lab. Sam keeps his eyes glued to the vials of blood even as they glow a light orange, and it isn’t until a red cape taps curiously on his shoulder that Sam even acknowledges the lab’s newest occupant.

“Hey, Doctor,” Sam says. “Sorry we had to call you back again so soon.”

Strange takes a seat to Sam’s left and scrutinizes the vials of blood, giving Sam a chance to blink a few times and give Strange a quick once-over. Strange hasn’t changed much in the past couple months since he and Sam last met—a brief visitation in August after Bruce admitted that his miracle memory-loss-curing drug could only be synthesized with Strange’s unique brand of assistance.

“How’s the head?” Strange asks, picking up one of the vials.

Sam returns his attention to the rest of the blood and smiles. “Better. Cracked, not shattered.”

“That’s only an improvement for you and Barnes,” Tony says mostly to himself. “Anyway, Strange, we need some help with a supernatural disease. You’re kind of the only person with any amount of expertise in the area.”

“Other than Sam, of course.”

Sam frowns at Strange’s words. As far as Sam knows, Strange doesn’t know much about Sam’s past, but the sorcerer isn’t exactly known to be forthcoming with what he  _ does _ know. “Other than me.” Sam eventually concedes, shaking his head. “And my knowledge on this particular subject is pretty limited.”

“What is it?” Strange asks, holding up his vial. “I assume this blood contains the virus.”

Sam nods and holds out his hand, summoning a microscope and passing it to Strange. Bruce offers up one of the prepared slides and Strange slips it into place, then peers into the microscope.

After a long moment of silence, Strange sits back and shakes his head. “That’s… interesting, to say the least.”

“I’ve encountered this virus once before,” Sam explains. “Dean and I called it Croatoan because that word was carved in a telephone pole in the town where we discovered it. It spreads through blood contact and turns the infected into killing machines. Once an entire town dies, the bodies vanish. These samples are the only ones we have from the most recent outbreak.”

Strange frowns. “And it gets more interesting.” He sets the microscope down and picks up one of the vials. “I’d like to take this back to the Sanctum and run some of my own tests. Perhaps there’s something here for me, after all.” Before anyone can actually give Strange the go-ahead, he’s already magicked up a portal and disappeared. Sam shakes his head and turns back to the center table, then groans.

“Damn it,” Tony says, turning and discovering the same thing that Sam did—the vials are empty, not a drop of blood in any of them. Bruce checks the microscope and shakes his head—the blood on the slide is gone, too.

Tony turns his attention to the vial he set aside, and the quiet curses he says under his breath tell Sam that there’s no hope for JARVIS’s eyes, either. “JARVIS, play back the tapes.” Tony orders, pulling up a holographic screen.

JARVIS almost sounds apologetic when he informs the group of their next misfortune. “I’m sorry, Sir, but my camera seems to have malfunctioned due to a spike in electrical activity in the vicinity of the affected vial.”

Sam shakes his head. “That’s not totally surprising. Supernatural occurrences tend to screw with electronics. I wouldn’t be surprised if any tests we tried to run with the equipment in here ended up useless, too.”

“You could have mentioned that a bit earlier,” Tony says. The words are accusatory, but Tony’s tone is a bit hopeless. None of the Avengers know how to deal with this threat, not even Sam. And with the virus’s potential to spread all over the world, it’s probably the most dangerous threat they’ve ever had to face.

Sam climbs to his feet and opens his palm, revealing a single vial, void of all blood. “Here’s hoping Strange keeps a close eye on his vial, because as of now, that’s all we have left.”

And with the Avengers unable to make heads nor tails of the Croatoan epidemic, it’s up to Strange to find a solution, too.


	12. Chapter 12

As the days pass with no word from Dr. Strange and no further Croatoan incidents, the Avengers begin to hesitantly move on to other things. Clint and Natasha head to Mongolia to get some information from an ex-Hydra agent captured there, and Tony and Bruce leave soon after for a conference in London. When, ten days after the latest Croatoan incident, Steve and Bucky inform Sam that they’re heading into the city to visit Sam Wilson’s family, Sam is surprised to realize that he and Dean will be the sole occupants of the Compound for the next six or seven hours.

Sam is even more surprised to realize that being alone with his brother has become an unusual occurrence.

What was once the standard—in motel rooms as a child, and in the bunker as an adult—has become a rarity, a treat, an expectation turned unexpected. And Sam isn’t sure how he feels about that. How he feels about Dean becoming a little less a brother, and a little more a stranger.

After Steve and Bucky leave, Sam makes himself a cup of tea and retires to his suite. He isn’t at all surprised to find Dean sitting on the couch, looking at something on his (Tony-provided) laptop. Sam sits down in the chair at the far end of the couch from Dean and sips his tea, watching curiously as Dean types something down, then pauses.

Dean looks up at Sam, spares a curious glance for the tea, then frowns and furrows his forehead in thought. “Hey, Sammy, when’s the last time you went on a hunt?”

Sam frowns at the unexpected question, taking a sip of his tea and thinking back. “About a month ago, I think. There was a ghost in Brooklyn causing trouble.” To Sam’s surprise, Dean has a strong reaction to his words, physically pressing himself back into the cushions of the couch in what appears to be surprise mixed with a touch of disgust.

“A month?” Dean asks in disbelief. When he speaks again, his words seem to offer up a challenge. “How many hunts have you been on since Lebanon?”

“I don’t know, like, nine?” Sam’s voice rises a bit at Dean’s accusatory tone and he leans forward a bit, instinctively taking on a defensive edge. “I’ve been kind of busy this past couple of years, if you hadn’t noticed.” There’s a bite to Sam’s words that he wasn’t intending for Dean to hear, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice as he bites back just as hard.

“We’re  _ hunters _ , Sam. Hunting is what we do. It’s what we’ve always done, and I thought we were in agreement that it’s what we were always going to do.”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek at that remark, trying his hardest to puzzle through the strange, alien combination of anger and disappointment in Dean’s tone. “What’s this all about, Dean? I hadn’t hunted for  _ years _ when you picked me up from Stanford.”

“This is different.” Dean insists, though Sam really doesn’t think that it is. “There aren’t enough hunters left for us to take a break now. When you were at Stanford, I knew that Dad and I were still on the hunt, and that there was a whole network of other hunters out there. But now? Now it’s practically just the two of us. Pardon me for assuming that you’d be taking care of business while I was indisposed.”

Sam’s barely keeping a hold of his emotions when he says, “In case you missed it, I was pretty damn indisposed for a while, too. Or have you forgot that I spent four months being  _ tortured? _ ” Sam intended his words to stop Dean in his tracks, but instead they seem to spur him forward. Dean slams the laptop shut and jumps to his feet, practically seething as he glares at Sam.

“Yeah, well, prison was no cakewalk. You know how many psychos I had to room with? How many messed-up sons of bitches sat across from me in the cafeteria? How many rapists and murders thought I might be an easy target?” Dean turns sharply around and stalks into his room, leaving Sam frozen in his seat staring after his brother’s receding back. After about a minute, Dean returns, hovering in his doorway.

He appears much calmer, but Sam knows him better than that. Dean’s jaw is clenched so tight he could crack a walnut with his teeth, and that tells Sam exactly what he needs to know. Dean is pissed. Beyond pissed. And whatever made him that way isn’t going to escape from this unscathed.

“I’m going to Illinois.” Dean declares without warning, pulling a filled duffel bag into view and slinging it over his shoulder. “There’s a pack of werewolves with a taste for older folk in a town an hour south of Chicago. I was hoping you’d come with me.”

Two years ago, even two months ago Sam wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. But now, he’s an Avenger. Now, he has a life in New York that he doesn’t want to leave, not even for a week. Now, there’s a demonic virus spreading through New England that Sam needs to be here to help stop.

Now, Sam’s dreams are filled with Dean standing over him, ready to end Sam’s life with an angel blade.

So now, Sam does hesitate. And when he gives Dean an answer, it’s not the one Dean is looking for. “I can’t,” Sam says, and even though Dean is standing there looking like he’s ready to rip out a werewolf’s heart, Sam doesn’t budge, and he doesn’t explain.

Dean sends Sam another sharp glare and turns, walking out of the suite. When he reaches the door, Dean stops, turning back just for an instant before he disappears. A minute passes, and the Impala starts up and roars away. And another minute after that, Sam still sits frozen in his chair, his cup of tea going cold in his hand, unable to move a muscle.

Because Sam would swear on his mother’s grave that when Dean turned around, his eyes were glowing blue.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Apologies for missing last week, and for the late chapter this week. It's been a crazy month, and due to a technical issue, I was unable to access my drafts from two weeks ago until late last night. I hope this chapter is worth the wait, and I promise to get back to my usual schedule now. Look forward to a new chapter on Saturday!

As Sam throws his last knife, watching it sink into the metal skull of a robot, he curses both internally and out loud.

The robot sinks to the ground and three more immediately take its place, moving cautiously toward Sam and quickly speeding up when they realize that he is no longer throwing projectiles to ward them off. As one of the robots breaks into a run, Sam curses again and reminds himself that he volunteered to join the Avengers on this case.

Sam woke up early this morning after another disturbing dream of an angel blade in his chest and shining blue eyes. When he went into the central lounge to grab breakfast, he found Tony just outside his suite, about to inform Sam that the Avengers were leaving for Maine to deal with some kind of robot uprising. Sam still isn’t sure whether he or Tony was more surprised when Sam immediately volunteered to join the team.

“What’s up, Darkside?” Tony’s voice filters through the comm in Sam’s ear, accompanied by the sound of a repulser going off. Sam teleports a few feet to the side to avoid the approaching robots, and a moment later he catches a glimpse of another bot with a smoking hole in its chest crashing to the street a few blocks away.

The three robots turn in unison in Sam’s direction and all start running at once, and Sam frowns and looks for the nearest knife—it’s stuck in the chest of a bot a few yards away, too far for Sam to reach in time. “I’m out of ammo,” Sam says, figuring that the Avengers will understand what is meant by that: Sam hasn’t carried a gun since Lebanon, but he’s been carrying a supply of custom throwing knives for a few months now.

“Get out of the fight and join Bruce on the jet.” Steve orders. His voice reaches Sam twice, once through the comm in Sam’s ear and once from a few yards away, where Steve suddenly appears from a side street, trailed by two robots. Sam teleports away from his trio of bots again and watches as Steve throws his shield and neatly decapitates his two opponents. The shield is on a path right back to Steve’s arm—Sam still has no idea how the super soldier commands his shield so well—when another metal body falls from the sky with an arrow in its chest and hits the shield, knocking it to the side. The shield hits the ground with a metallic ring and two of Sam’s bots immediately turn their attention to Steve, who is forced into hand-to-hand combat with them. Sam looks between Steve, the shield, and the clear path to the jet—cleared specifically for him and likely to only be clear for a short while—and makes a split-second, not very well thought out decision.

“Sorry,” Sam says preemptively as he sprints towards the discarded shield, reaching out with one hand and letting the weapon meet him halfway. The shield slides onto Sam’s arm like it belongs there and he spins around, cutting off the head of the third bot, who made the poor decision of following Sam over. With that, the rest of the bots apparently decide that Sam is back to being a threat, and a good number of them swarm Sam’s position. Sam tosses the shield with as much force as he can, directing it with one hand and retrieving the nearest throwing knife with the other. Rather than bringing the knife—which is still buried in the forehead of a downed bot—back to himself, Sam sends it to Steve, who grabs the weapon out of the air and slashes through the exposed wires at the back of one of his attackers’ heads. The robot collapses like a load of bricks and the shield ricochets off of a brick wall, returning neatly to Sam’s waiting hand. Sam and Steve share a grin before turning back to the fight, each other’s weapons held firmly and confidently in their hands.

Sam spins in a wide arc, decapitating four robots in one go and using his momentum to launch the shield up into the air, where it hits a bot chasing Tony and knocks it right out of the sky.

“Thanks, Cap,” Tony calls as he shoots past. 

The shield falls back down into Sam’s hand, and Steve laughs. “That was Darkside, actually.” Steve clarifies as he gestures for Sam to angle the shield in his direction.

“ _ Ree- _ ally,” Tony says, and Sam can picture his raised eyebrow effortlessly. “Well, then, good job, Sasquatch.” 

Sam makes the adjustment Steve suggested and Steve throws the knife in his hand directly at Sam. Both men watch as the knife ricochets off of the shield, hitting a robot square in the forehead as it passes overhead.

“Show-offs.” Clint comments from his perch above the street as the bot plummets to the ground, landing a few feet away from Sam. Sam retrieves the knife and shoves it into his belt, then uses his telekinesis to recover another one from a pile of shattered glass. As the second knife flies in Sam’s direction, he throws the shield at one of the few remaining bots. The shield knocks off the robot’s head and bounces off of a telephone pole, rebounding right into Steve’s waiting hand. The knife reaches Sam at the same time and both men throw their weapons at once, taking out the last two bots and sharing another grin.

Tony touches down a moment later, lifting up his helmet. “That’s the last of them.” He confirms. Steve returns his shield to the magnetic harness on his back and Sam looks around, retrieving a few more of his scattered knives. 

After a minute, Clint appears in the doorway of the building he was posted on top of and joins Sam in his search, attempting to retrieve some of his arrows. While they scavenge, Tony and Steve have a quiet conversation about what to do with the disabled bots, their voices fading into the background as they float over Sam’s comms.

Sam pulls a knife out of the neck of a bot and pauses to sheath it. When he looks back up, the bot’s eyes are glowing a dim blue.

With a start, Sam takes a step backward, blinking rapidly. The robot’s face blinks briefly out of existence, and for a split second, Sam is staring at Dean, his arm lifted, a glint of silver reflecting in the sunlight shining down from between the buildings.

A sharp pain tears through Sam’s left leg and he feels his knee buckle beneath him. As Sam falls, a silver arrow flies over his head, landing squarely in Dean’s forehead.

And then the blue eyes disappear and Dean’s face is gone. Sam automatically reaches for his leg, watching as the robot’s arm falls, still smoking slightly.

“Darkside!”

“Sam?!”

Steve and Tony’s voices feel distant, and Sam shakes his head, trying to free himself from the tendrils of nightmare swirling around his mind. It takes a second, but Sam finally manages to gather his thoughts enough to actually assess the injury he appears to have received.

There’s a deep cut across the left side of Sam’s thigh, a perfect line carved into his skin. Sam looks over his shoulder and easily finds the impact point of the projectile—there’s a small circle of concrete on the wall a few yards behind him that’s been scorched black by the energy beam that struck Sam’s leg.

“Sam, look at me.” Sam turns away from the wall and looks up at Tony, who has abandoned his suit and is now kneeling to Sam’s left, one hand pressed down over the tear in Sam’s jeans. “What happened?”

“I, uh…” Sam trails off, trying to figure out how to explain that he was only shot because he was distracted by his own mind.

“Was it your memory?” Tony asks, genuine fear shining in his eyes. “Did something happen? If you forgot again, we need to get Strange on the phone, stat.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No, no, not that.” Sam glances at Clint—who is making himself busy repeatedly stabbing the clearly disabled robot with an arrow—then at Steve, who is standing a few feet away, speaking into his comm. Given the fact that Sam can’t hear what Steve is saying, he figures Steve is on a different channel, calling in reinforcements and/or medical support.

“Well, then, what happened?”

Sam hesitates, looking down at his jeans, and the red patch on them that is slowly growing despite Tony’s best efforts. “Dean,” Sam admits quietly.

“Oh.” Tony sounds surprisingly… not surprised by that, but it isn’t until he continues that Sam realizes that Tony has a completely different idea of what caused Sam to be distracted. “You’re worried about him being alone.”

Sam almost disagrees, but the opportunity presented to him by Tony’s words is the perfect excuse. The last thing Sam wants to do is bring the Avengers into his latest terrifying vision before he himself knows what’s going on.

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam says, adding a nice layer of worry into his voice as well as copious amounts of hesitation. “It’s been years since Dean was last on a hunt. I guess I’m just… not used to not knowing he’s safe.” It’s not even a lie: this is the first time in two years that Sam hasn’t known exactly where his brother is. And while it’s true that Sam is a little worried about Dean’s first hunt in years, that worry has been far overshadowed by Sam’s fear of his vision and what it may entail.

Tony cracks a smile for a split second, but it fades away quickly as he refocuses his attention on Sam’s leg. “We can talk about Dean later.” Tony decides, pressing his hands harder into Sam’s thigh. As Sam stifles a groan, Tony continues, “For now, we need to worry about keeping you from bleeding out.”

“I won’t bleed out,” Sam replies, although he is starting to feel a bit lightheaded. “You won’t let me.”

Tony shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from Sam’s leg just long enough to meet Sam’s gaze. “Damn right I won’t. Now that I know how to break into Heaven, you can be damn certain I’m never letting you die.”

“Quinjet is on its way,” Steve says, rejoining Tony and Sam and casting a nervous look in the direction of Clint, who is still mutilating the robot.

Sam grins, looking up at Steve. “Good to know.” He says as the world starts to fade at the edges of his vision. “Good to know.”

As Sam starts to lose his fight against consciousness, Tony shakes his head and forces a smile.

“See you on the other side, Sam.”


	14. Chapter 14

When he wakes in the med bay, Sam is informed that, assuming he heals at his usual rate, he’ll be back on his feet in three days. Rather than deal with the hassle of a wheelchair, Sam decides to use his crutches for those three days. While the rest of the Avengers deal with the aftermath of the minor robot uprising, Sam busies himself with a thorough checkup of all the supernatural-proofing of the compound—a task he undertakes both to keep himself busy and to distract himself from his compounding worries associated with Dean.

In addition to his fears of his vision and his worries about Dean’s hunt, Sam now has an additional fear: Dean’s reaction to learning that Sam was injured. Dean is overprotective at the best of times, but with the years they’ve spent apart and the recent fight between them, Sam figures there’s a pretty good chance that Dean’s reaction to his injury will be far from calm.

Sam finds himself spending a significant chunk of his time hoping that Dean doesn’t return until Sam is off the crutches and able to easily hide his injury.

Unfortunately for Sam, the rumbling of the Impala’s engine reaches his ears late in the afternoon on the second day. Sam briefly debates losing the crutches anyway, but all it takes is a glance at JARVIS’s nearest camera to forget that possibility—JARVIS won’t hesitate to tell Tony that Sam has forgone his crutches, and Tony won’t hesitate to put Sam back in his place.

Instead, Sam sits down on the couch in the central lounge and props his leg up on the coffee table, figuring that he might as well get the worst of it out of the way as soon as Dean walks through the door. Tony, Steve, and Natasha are all in the vicinity, trying their best to seem like they aren’t hovering around to see what happens when Dean arrives. For the time being, Sam decides to ignore them.

The first thing Sam notices when Dean walks through the door is the fresh bandage on Dean’s lower right arm. Sam’s eyes widen and he looks up at Dean at the exact same moment that Dean looks at Sam.

“What happened to your leg?”

“What happened to your arm?”

Both brothers fall silent after their simultaneous questions, challenging the other to answer first. Dean could out-stubborn a mule, but Sam’s younger sibling stubbornness has never lost before, and he doubts it’s going to stop now.

After a strained two and a half minutes, Dean forces out a growl from the back of his throat and shakes his head. “Got scratched. Just a couple of cuts, probably won’t even scar.”

Sam nods, relieved that Dean’s injury isn’t serious. Dean raises an eyebrow and gestures pointedly to Sam’s leg. Dean doesn’t have to say a word—his body language is screaming  _ “Your turn.” _

“I was helping the Avengers with a swarm of robots. One of them got me in the leg with an energy beam.” Sam says in as carefree a tone as he can manage. “Cut pretty deep, but the doctor says I’ll be back on my feet by tomorrow.”

Sam is expecting Dean to be angry, to go off on an overprotective rant about how Sam needs to take better care of himself, even to demand that next time Sam goes into the field, Dean has to go with him. What Sam doesn’t expect is for Dean to turn sharply on his heel, stalk over to Tony, and grab the front of his shirt.

“You’re supposed to be keeping him safe!” Dean’s voice rises so quickly that Clint and Bruce run into the room, stopping in their tracks when they see Dean physically lifting Tony out of his seat. “You told me you wouldn’t let him get hurt, and what happens? I leave for a week and Sam can’t even walk!”

Sam watches in disbelief as Dean’s eyes brighten, green going blue for a split second. Dean lifts his free hand and Sam jumps to his feet, crutches ignored as he holds out a hand and freezes Dean in place, fist ready to fly.

“ _ Stop _ ,” Sam says darkly, his eyes flashing yellow. Dean frowns, the blue fading from his eyes, and Tony wriggles free of Dean’s grasp and takes several steps back until he’s completely out of Dean’s reach. “It’s just a cut, Dean. I’ve been much worse off before.”

Sam lowers his hand and quickly regrets it when Dean promptly turns on him and says, “I think this is a mistake.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“This. This whole  _ superhero _ thing.” Dean gestures to the Compound at large. “These abilities of yours have clearly convinced your buddies that you’re invincible. Well, you aren’t. And I don’t want you to be in danger.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief.  _ This  _ is the last straw?  _ This _ is what makes Dean decide that Sam’s life is too dangerous?

“No.”

The word has left Sam’s mouth before he has time to think about it, and the scathing glare he gets from Dean almost makes Sam back down. But the past couple of years have done a lot to make Sam stronger. It’s time Dean knew that.

“No, I won’t stop working with the Avengers,” Sam says, crossing his arms. “And no, I’m not in any more danger than I always have been.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Sam lifts his hand again. Dean freezes in place, sending Sam the most heated glare Sam thinks he’s ever been on the receiving end of.

Two years ago, Sam would have backed down. But this isn’t two years ago, and Sam isn’t the person he was two years ago.

“I can protect myself, Dean, and I’ve always been able to. You knew that, once. So what the hell is your problem with it now?”

Sam lowers his hand, fully expecting a retort. Instead, Dean just shakes his head. “Freeze me again and I’ll make sure you regret it.” With those words hanging in the air, Dean turns and storms into the suite.

Sam watches him go in silence, those last words echoing in his ears. Tony approaches Sam but Sam ignores him in favor of repeating those words. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Sam?” Steve asks, confusion rolling across his face in a wave when Sam smiles.

“I’m fine,” Sam says, and he means it. Despite Dean’s anger, despite the flash of blue eyes that seems to be appearing more and more with every passing day, despite the fact that Sam’s relationship with his brother might never go back to normal, Sam is fine.

Because Dean’s last words were a threat, but there was no heat behind them. And that alone tells Sam that there’s hope.

As long as Dean can’t bring himself to hurt Sam, there’s hope. Because Dean’s love for Sam will always be the last thing to go.


	15. Chapter 15

After their argument, Sam decides—and Dean agrees—that it may be best that they take some time alone to cool off. Sam lets Dean keep the suite and temporarily moves into one of the many guest rooms in the Compound, and he sees his brother about three times over the course of the next five days—all when Dean ventures out of the suite to grab supplies from the kitchen, and all without any exchange of words between the brothers.

Dean makes these excursions quickly and with his head down, not only remaining silent but apparently expressly trying to avoid Sam. On the third such occasion, Sam tries to draw his brother’s attention only for Dean to shake his head and turn tail, disappearing back into the suite without the materials he’d originally ventured out for.

Sam is still standing in the middle of the central lounge, puzzling over Dean’s out-of-character reaction, when Tony and Clint walk into the room, in the midst of a conversation about whether superheroes have to pay taxes.

“It’s still a job, isn’t it?” Tony points out, sending Sam a curious look when he sees that Sam is standing in the middle of the lounge. “We still get a paycheck, don’t we?”

Clint shrugs and plops down on the couch, swinging his legs up and crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m just saying, we should at least be able to write off all the saving the world stuff.”

Tony shakes his head and turns toward the kitchen, then pauses. He glances back and Sam and reaches into the pocket of his jacket. “That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” Before Sam can ask what Tony is talking about, Tony is handing him a slip of paper.

“What is this?” Sam looks down at his hands and realizes that he’s holding a check. His eyes catch on the dollar amount and remain there for a long moment.

There’s a couple thousand dollars in Sam’s hands, money he couldn’t even begin to know what to do with. And the check says that it’s for “Avengers Services.”

Tony raises an eyebrow and says, “It’s your paycheck.” Tony’s tone suggests that that should have been the obvious conclusion, and the confused expression remains on Tony’s face as he sits down on the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. An irritated Clint scoots away from Tony as he stretches out and eyes Sam. “Most of the Avengers get their money put straight into the bank, but I realized that I don’t know your account.”

“I, uh, I don’t… I don’t think I have one.” Sam admits, setting the check down on the coffee table with the same delicate caution that one might handle a ticking bomb. Then, Sam sits down in one of the empty chairs, shaking his head. “This is… This is how much the Avengers are paid?”

“Well, yeah,” Tony says nonchalantly. “We are saving the world and all.” Tony shakes his head. “Most of it comes from SHIELD but I think a bit is government funding. Taxes and all that. Anyway, you only officially joined the team recently, and it’s been a pretty quiet month, so this check is smaller than most will be in the future.”

Sam has to take a moment to process that. Next time, he’ll be getting  _ more _ ? “Wait, seriously?” Sam can’t help but ask. “I don’t even know what to do with  _ this _ .”

“What do you mean?”

The question comes from Clint, but Tony looks just as curious, and Sam bites the inside of his cheek as he tries to come up with a reasonable explanation for his surprise. “I mean, I’ve never had more than a couple hundred dollars to my name total at any given time.” Sam eventually says. The looks on Clint and Tony’s faces suggest that, while Sam thought that was a given, it was something the Avengers hadn’t previously considered. Despite the shock Clint and Tony were displaying, Sam continued, “I think the most money I’ve ever had was in college and most that went straight into textbooks and, like, lunch. I can’t remember ever cashing a check, and I know for a fact that I’ve never owned a checkbook. I may have had a bank account during my Stanford years, but I doubt it’s still open now.” Sam smiles weakly and shakes his head. “Not that it ever had much more than spare change in it, to begin with.”

Clint’s next question is delivered with a distinct note of horror. “You’re saying that those two thousand dollars on that check are the most money you’ve ever had?”

Sam just nods. “I mean, we didn’t really need much more money than that when I was growing up.” Sam pauses to think, then, and wonders if his statement is really true. “When I was a kid, all the money my dad earned working odd jobs between hunts and hustling pool went to groceries, second-hand clothes and shoes, and motel rooms. As Dean and I got older, Dad had to delve into some credit card fraud to keep us alive, and after he died Dean and I kept up the tradition because odd jobs didn’t pay well enough. All our laptops and phones were either bought right before they were made obsolete or outright stolen. We didn’t have the money for anything but gas and food and sometimes clothes if we had a good day at the bar.”

“That’s… horrible.” Tony draws out the pause for so long that Sam almost thinks he isn’t going to finish his sentence. When he finally does, all Sam can do is shrug.

“I never knew any different,” Sam says, wondering just how unusual other facets of his childhood that he took to be normal really were. “Growing up, I kind of figured that everyone ate half an apple for dinner on Thursdays and slept in their car some nights and wore their brother’s old clothes instead of having their own. Of course, I figured out that wasn’t totally normal before long, but then, most of my life wasn’t. Took years for me to realize that some of it was the hunting, and some of it was just us being poor.”

“I grew up beyond poor, Sam, and let me tell you, that’s beyond poor,” Clint says.

“Your family lived on less than Cap and Barnes did during the Great Depression. Without inflation.” Tony adds, and Sam can’t deny that he’s probably right.

“We survived,” Sam says, taking on a bit of a defensive stance as he climbs to his feet. “Sure, it wasn’t ideal, but we were alive, and Dean made sure I was happy.” Sam looks back down at the check on the table, and terrible thought occurs to him, spurred by a memory of the conversation he had with Dean after they went to Josie’s bar. “And I could do it again if I needed to. I lived off next to nothing before I moved in with you, and I don’t need your money, Tony. I’m not your charity case.”

With that, Sam turns on his heel and walks out of the lounge, leaving Tony, Clint, and the check behind.

* * *

Sam is left pretty much alone for the next few hours. He stays in his temporary room, the silence briefly interrupted by JARVIS relaying requests for Sam’s presence from various Avengers that Sam always declines. Sam is content to stay in his room for as long as he needs, but he knows that Tony won’t allow it forever.

Tony has already given too much to Sam.

What irritates Sam the most is that he never even totally realized what Tony was doing. Never realized that he’d been living rent-free at the Compound, enjoying the spoils of Tony’s riches without care. Sam has always hated handouts, has always hated needing help, and hated asking for it even more. And yet here he is, living off of the Avengers and not doing a thing to make up for it.

He really is just a charity case.

“You are not my charity case, Sam.” Tony’s voice comes from the doorway, patient and low. Tony is smart enough not to spook Sam, smart enough to make his presence known long before Sam senses it. Tony has spent so much time helping Sam, making sure that Sam felt safe, felt welcome. “I don’t care what anyone says. You are  _ not  _ my charity case.”

“Aren’t I, though?” Sam asks, turning to face Tony and rubbing his face with his hand, his fingers ghosting over the scar on his cheek and touching down again on the other side. “I’m living in your compound, free of charge, with my food and my clothes and even my medical bills paid for by you.” Sam shakes his head. “And I thought what I was doing as Darkside was at least helping pay some of that back, and now you’re trying to give me money for that, too.”

Sam isn’t expecting Tony to let out a short, surprised laugh. “Wait, you think you aren’t paying?” Tony shakes his head in disbelief. “Sam, you told me when you moved in that you wanted to earn your keep, and you are. That paycheck I gave you? I already took out what I thought you owed for rent, and food, and clothes.” Tony shakes his head again and laughs. “I really do think that saving the world is plenty good enough to clear any debt you may owe me, but you wanted to earn your keep and I’ve been letting you do just that.” Tony pauses, then looks up at JARVIS’s camera. “Hey, Jar, can we open a checking account for the Sasquatch here? Deposit that check into it and get him a debit card, too.”

“Right away, Sir.”

Tony turns to Sam and grins. “There. Now, if you really want, you can spend your own money on whatever you need, whenever you need. Just know that if you start paying for your own food, your paycheck is only going to get bigger.” Tony turns, ready to leave Sam alone in his room, but Sam knows that there’s more he needs to say.

“Thank you.”

Tony stops and turns back around, frowning. “For what? Helping you open a bank account? Because that’s really not hard. These days, you can pretty much do it on your phone.”

Sam smiles despite himself and shakes his head. “For being patient with me. All of this—“ Sam gestures to the Compound at large— “is still pretty new to me, and I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in. So thank you for sticking with me. For always sticking with me.”

Tony returns Sam’s smile. “Normally, I’d say you didn’t have to thank me. But I know how much you hate feeling like you owe people things. So, just for you, I’ll say this.” Tony takes one step forward and performs a neat bow. “You’re welcome, Sam. You are _always_ welcome.”


	16. Chapter 16

_ Sam stands frozen in the doorway, watching in horror as a fully-grown young man straightens to his full height. When the man turns, Sam is blinded by the overwhelming golden glow coming from the man’s eyes. _

Sam jolts awake and shakes his head, disturbed by the forceful nature of his nightmare—a scattered recollection of the moment of Jack’s birth still skirting across his closed eyelids with every blink, that golden glow refusing to fully fade away.

With some effort, Sam manages to climb to his feet, although he’s much shakier than usual. Sam doesn’t know how he knows that something terrible is going to happen, but he does. The weight of what’s coming is heavy in his chest, like a stone nestled against his heart. Sam only hopes he can get to someone else before whatever is coming takes him down.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks JARVIS as he heads for his bedroom door, remembering only after he’s asked the question that he and Dean aren’t exactly on the best terms at the moment. Rather than retracting the question, though, Sam decides that his current state warrants an end to the mutual silence between them.

JARVIS’s answer, however, dashes Sam’s hopes. “Mr. Winchester is currently in Manhattan with Agent Barton at a court hearing. I can ask Sir when he will return if you’d like.” Sam waves JARVIS off and reaches for the door, only to miss the knob entirely when a flash of golden light temporarily blinds him.

A wave of energy smacks into Sam’s stomach and he careens into the wall, grunting when his shoulder takes the full force of the impact. Sam looks around wildly, but he’s no longer standing in the Avengers Compound, and before him is a rip in the fabric of reality.

As Sam watches, a hand wielding an angel blade appears from the portal and skewers Castiel through the chest, his body lighting up before crumpling to the ground when the blade is removed. A split second later, Mary Winchester walks into Sam’s view and stops directly in front of the portal, turning to Sam and smiling warmly.

Sam doesn’t get the chance to warn her before the hand reappears and grabs her arm. The last thing Sam sees is the horror in his mother’s eyes as she’s yanked into the portal, which disappears behind her.

The Compound returns to its rightful place and Sam blinks rapidly, steadying himself against the wall as he tries to sort through what he’s just seen. The attack came on like a vision, but Sam knows that it was anything but—knows that what he just saw isn’t something he can change, because it happened years ago.

Horror creeps across Sam’s face as realization dawns on him. This attack isn’t going to end any time soon, and now, Sam knows exactly what to expect. The memories that were stolen from Sam in the Lebanon bombing are making their return, and the full force of the emotions and pain tied to them are coming, too. Sam is finally remembering.

And he’s far from prepared for the aftermath.

With that sobering thought in mind, Sam opens his door and moves as quickly as he can across the living room of his suite, determined to reach at least one of the Avengers before he’s overpowered by his own mind.

Sam reaches the entrance to his suite without incident, but as he makes his way down the hall to the central lounge, the acrid smell of ash and dust begins to filter through the air, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only sinks lower when he realizes what memory is going to be next to make its return.

Two years after the fact, Sam still doesn’t know what happened between his passing out in Lebanon and waking up months later as Asmodeus’s prison. But Sam’s nightmares have always suggested that he woke up at least once while he was still lying amongst the rubble on the ruined streets of Lebanon.

The sounds of quiet conversation reach Sam’s ears through the growing haze and he forces his legs to move faster, ignoring the residual pain in his injured left leg and the growing ache in the right as he stumbles toward the central lounge down a hallway that seems to be getting longer with every step. When Sam finally reaches the lounge, he finds Natasha, Steve, and Bucky sitting around the room, the first two partaking in quiet conversation with their backs to Sam while the latter intently watches a cartoon on the TV.

None of them notice Sam’s entrance, and Sam never has the chance to remedy that. As Sam steps fully into the room, pain rips through his leg without warning, tearing straight through muscle and bone. It’s a sharp pain, but it doesn’t end, like a knife being twisted slowly in a circle, around and around and around until Sam’s vision is whiting out. Sam wants to scream but his voice is trapped by the lump in his throat and all he can force out is a pained grunt as his legs give out beneath him and he collapses to the floor.

“Was that Sam?” Natasha says mostly to herself, her words quiet and distant and her face barely visible through the haze of dust and smoke as she turns her head. Sam sees Natasha jumping to her feet, but it feels like she’s a million miles away. The pain radiates from Sam’s leg and he clenches his hands into tight fists, gritting his teeth and digging his fingernails into his palms in an attempt to distract himself. Sam wants more than anything to grab his leg, to make the pain stop, but everything he can see is shining a bright yellow, and Sam knows that anything he touches will likely be destroyed almost immediately, crushed to dust beneath even the lightest grasp he can manage. “Get Banner and Stark.” Natasha orders to either Steve or Bucky as she drops to Sam’s side, hesitating when she sees the way Sam’s muscles are straining as he desperately tries to keep his abilities under control.

There are tears in Sam’s eyes as he writhes in pain, fire and dust crowding the edges of his vision as his leg is torn from his body all over again.

Bucky and Steve appear at Natasha’s side and Sam knows what he has to do. “Hold… me… down.” He forces out through gritted teeth, directing his words at the two newcomers. Steve hesitates but Bucky immediately wraps his metal hand around Sam’s left wrist, holding it down against the tile floor. Steve is quick to copy Bucky’s motions, securing Sam’s right hand moments before the awful sensation of muscles ripping apart tears through Sam’s body again and he jerks harshly, hands curling even tighter. A scream tears its way from Sam’s throat, a deep, guttural sound that makes Natasha, Steve, and Bucky wince and stops the part of arriving scientists in their tracks at Sam’s feet.

“What the hell is going on?!” Tony asks as Sam starts to fight against Steve and Bucky’s hold, tears escaping his eyes as he desperately reaches for his leg, all reason going out the window.

He needs it to stop. It  _ has _ to stop.

“He collapsed,” Natasha says, her voice, even in even the most horrifying of situations, shaking lightly. “Told them to restrain him, but that’s all he’s been able to get out.” 

Another wave of pain hits Sam hard and his left leg scrabbles for purchase on the smooth tile floor as he continues to fight the very people he instructed to restrain him. “Hurts… Let me… Stop it…” Sam groans, his breath coming out in short, heaving gasps. His leg is burning, skin and muscle melting away with the pain of a chemical fire and the sting of a thousand yellow jackets.

“What hurts?” Bruce asks, his words very nearly drowned out as Sam screams again, his back arching and his leg desperately searching for a foothold.

Sam sees Tony’s eyes widen, sees the realization fill his eyes. “It’s his leg,” Tony says, and Sam can barely make out Tony’s face through the blinding glow of his soul but Sam knows that Tony is panicking. “He’s having phantom pains. Severe ones.”

It’s Bruce who shakes his head next, connecting the same dots that Tony did. “He’s reliving the loss of his leg. We have to knock him out.”

“What?!” Bucky exclaims, immediately going on the defensive, his metal fingers curling protectively around Sam’s wrist.

“We can’t stop this any other way,” Tony says, regret coloring his words. “You can’t dull phantom pains with morphine. They’re just in Sam’s head.” Sam grunts and pulls hard on his arms, but Steve and Bucky just hold tighter, keeping Sam from reaching for his leg.

“We have to drug him,” Bruce says quietly. “There’s no telling how long this will last otherwise. He could seriously hurt one of us, or even himself.” Bruce disappears without another word and Sam turns his attention back to Steve and Bucky.

“Please,” Sam begs, turning his head to look directly into Bucky’s eyes. “Please… Hurts so… Bad.” Bucky’s expression wavers as Sam begs him for relief, begs to be freed from the pain that’s the worst pain he can remember feeling in years, the worst thing he’s felt since Lucifer’s cage.

“Why is this happening now?” Steve asks when Sam squeezes his eyes shut and presses the back of his head into the floor, employing a technique he used back in that Cage. If Sam can’t escape the pain with his body, maybe he can escape it with his mind.

It never worked then. So Sam isn’t totally surprised that it doesn’t work now.

“He’s remembering,” Tony says. “The pills Bruce and Strange synthesized are working, and Sam is regaining the memories he lost. Unfortunately, that includes the bad ones.”

Bucky shakes his head and tightens his jaw. “Like the moment his leg was torn from his body.”

The pain refuses to cease, refuses to even dull, and Sam, desperate for relief as another wave of tearing flesh of cracking bone flows through him, channels all of his strength into his hands and forces his palms open. Bucky and Steve are thrown to opposite ends of the room by Sam’s haywire powers, and the crack of bodies colliding with walls is so loud that it breaks firmly through the haze surrounding Sam. At any other time, Sam would feel bad, but right now, all he cares about is getting rid of the scorching iron that’s pressed against his skin. Sam ignores the friends who surround him and grabs his right leg with his newly freed hands. The cool metal beneath Sam’s fingertips is a stark contrast from the intense waves of heat that are coming off of the metal limb, and the discrepancy almost gives Sam pause.

But the pain doesn’t stop, and Sam wraps his hands around the bottom half of his thigh—the area where most of the pain seems to be centered—and twists sharply, tearing the offending metal leg roughly away from his body and growling angrily when tossing the warped metal as far away as he can does nothing to cease the pain.

“Sorry, Sam.” 

Tony’s voice comes up unexpectedly from behind Sam, who turns around just as a needle goes into his neck. The sharp prick is nowhere near as painful as the never-ending fire burning in Sam’s leg, but his scattered mind screams that he’s being attacked, and that’s all the encouragement Sam needs. Determined to defend himself, Sam grabs Tony’s arm, his yellow eyes flashing. Sam pulls his attacker closer and wraps his hands around their neck, ignoring the screams for him to stop as he tries desperately to free himself of the pain.

All at once, the pain disappears, and Sam stares in shock as Tony’s face materializes before him, frozen in Sam’s grasp but clearly beyond terrified. Sam releases his hold and scrambles uncoordinatedly backward on one and a half legs.

Sam makes it about three feet before the drugs Tony gave him kick in and Sam drops to the floor, black flooding his vision and the word ‘sorry’ trapped just inside his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

Sam wakes with a start, sitting straight up and taking in a gasping breath. Dust and fire fill Sam’s lungs and he chokes on the air, curling around his stomach and coughing harshly, trying to dislodge the blood and ash clogging his throat. It takes a full minute for Sam to realize that he isn’t lying on the ground in Lebanon but in a bed in the med bay of the Avengers Compound, and it’s only after that realization that Sam figures out that someone else is in the room with him.

Sam senses rather than sees the presence at his side, and once he’s gotten his breathing under control, Sam turns to find Dean sitting beside him, watching Sam’s coughing fit with pure fear in his eyes.

Dean is wearing a nice suit, the tie undone but still draped around his neck. He must have come straight to the med bay when he got back from Manhattan, and Dean’s haggard appearance suggests that he hasn’t left since. Sam doesn’t know how long he was out—it depends equally on how much sedative Tony gave him and how fast Sam’s metabolism burned through it—but based on Dean’s expression alone Sam figures it was longer than his older brother was comfortable with.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice low and gravelly. Dean grabs a glass of water from the bedside table and silently passes it to Sam, who takes a few sips and clears his throat. “How long was I out?” Sam asks, happy to hear that his voice has returned to a reasonable range.

Dean averts his gaze and shakes his head. “Too long,” He says simply, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Is everyone okay?” Sam asks, biting the inside of his cheek. “I remember destroying Bucky’s hand, and I—“ Sam’s eyes widen and the blood drains from his face when he realizes that the last thing he remembers is his hands around Tony’s neck. “Is Tony okay? Did I hurt him?”

Dean is quick to shake his head. “He’s okay, Sammy.” Dean insists. “You put the fear of God in him, but he was more worried for you than himself. The doc checked him out anyway and he’s perfectly fine.”

Sam breathes out a sigh of relief and says, “Thank God.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the brothers as Sam debates whether or not to mention their argument from a few weeks before. Sam has no idea how Dean feels about the incident, whether he’s ready to forgive and forget or if the issues between them are something that a single phantom pain-induced near-death experience can’t fix. Normally, Sam and Dean would never go this long without at least trying to talk it out. But Sam’s been so absorbed with other things that he hasn’t bothered.

As much as he hates to admit it, Sam has let his relationship with his brother fall to the wayside.

Eventually, Dean is the one to break the silence. “What exactly did you remember, anyway?” He asks, watching Sam carefully. “Stark told me that you remembered losing your leg, but he said he thought something else must have brought it on.”

“I, uh…” Sam trails off, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to figure out the most delicate way to put it. “I remembered the day Jack was born. All of it.”

Dean winces sympathetically, clearly aware of what Sam isn’t saying outright. “All of it?” He repeats.

“I remember Crowley dying and Cas dying. I remember the first time I saw Jack, and the way his eyes were glowing gold.” Sam hesitates. “I, uh, I remember that split second when we thought we were safe, and the way that time stood still when Lucifer reached through the portal and pulled Mom back in with him.” Sam shivers, the memory crystal clear now despite being clouded by fog for the past two years. Suddenly stricken with emotion, Sam turns to Dean and shakes his head. “How could I have forgotten that? How could I have forgotten losing Mom?”

Dean frowns, looking down at his hands. After a minute, he admits, “Sometimes I wish I could.” Dean meets Sam’s eyes, tears sparkling in them. “God, there’s a hundred memories I wish I could just scrub from my head. Every time I’ve lost Mom, every time I’ve lost you.” Dean’s hands shake a bit and Sam realizes that Dean was sitting by his bed for hours on end because he was terrified. Terrified of losing Sam again.

A flash of blue eyes infiltrates Sam’s mind and he shivers again, this time for another reason entirely.

Dean must take it for the same reason, though, because he leans forward and places one hand on Sam’s thigh—it’s right about then that Sam realizes he’s not wearing a prosthetic and remembers that he destroyed it in his pain-induced madness. “Mom wouldn’t have wanted us fighting,” Dean admits slowly, the words practically forced out of his mouth. Sam wonders how long Dean has been keeping this back, how long he’s wanted to approach Sam. 

How long he’s laid awake at night and wondered if they’ll ever really be the same again.

“She would have hated seeing us like this. All uncomfortable and gross and sappy.” A hint of a smile appears on Dean’s face and Sam matches it, just for a second. Dean shakes his head and adds, “Man, if Jack were here he’d probably slap us both upside the head for being such idiots.” 

Sam actually laughs at that, although it only lasts a second before the sound abruptly cuts off when Sam has a sobering thought. “Where is Jack, anyway?” Sam hopes that Dean has an answer, but he knows as soon as he sees Dean’s face that Dean knows just as little as Sam does.

“I haven’t seen him since Lebanon,” Dean says. “I spoke to Cas a few times after the fact, but I was so worried about you that Jack never even crossed my mind.”

“I hope he’s okay.” Rather than replying, Dean just nods in silent agreement. “Jack is tough,” Sam continues, trying to convince himself just as much as his brother. “He’ll be fine. Right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says without looking up, but it doesn’t really sound like he believes it. And to be honest, Sam doesn’t really believe it either.

It’s been two years since Lebanon, and Jack has been alone that entire time. Cas would have mentioned Jack if they’d been sticking together, would have told Sam where Jack was, or even brought him along when the Avengers called. And while Jack is insanely powerful, he’s also incredibly naive. Jack is just a kid, inexperienced in a world that Sam knows all too well is unforgiving to those who still carry hope in their hearts.

With a quiet sigh, Sam closes his eyes and pictures the face of the boyish Nephilim, hoping beyond hope that somehow, Jack is alright.

Sam has already lost so much of his family, some to permanent demises and others to an endless limbo of life and death. He can’t bear to lose anyone else.

When Sam opens his eyes, he finds Dean’s head bowed, his forehead resting on clasped hands. Sam watches silently for a moment as Dean’s shoulders shake, and though he can’t see them, Sam knows that silent tears are slipping down his brother’s cheeks.

Tears shed both for the family they’ve lost and for the family they may never see again.


	18. Chapter 18

After a few minutes, Sam falls asleep again, and when he wakes Dean is gone. Instead, the seat beside Sam’s bed is occupied by Bucky, who is leaning forward with his head in his hand.  _ Hand _ , because Bucky’s metal arm is gone, the hole in his jacket covered by a sling tied carefully around his neck and upper torso. Sam only has faint memories of screeching metal to remind him of what he did, but it isn’t hard to use what little information he has to extrapolate.

Sam crushed Bucky’s indestructible hand like it was made of tinfoil. And all it took was a single flashback.

“Welcome back, kid,” Bucky says after looking up and realizing that Sam is awake. “Have a good nap?”

“No nightmares, for once,” Sam admits, biting the inside of his cheek. “Sorry about your arm.”

Bucky looks at his arm and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be. You ain’t at fault for what’s going on inside your head.”

“Still, I didn’t mean to destroy your hand.” Still feeling guilty, Sam asks, “Has Tony started on a new one?”

“He was working on your leg last I checked. Seeing as you need a leg more than I need an arm, I wasn’t complaining.”

Sam frowns, shaking his head. “That’s not true at all.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, then laughs. “Kid, you can’t walk with one leg. There isn’t much I can’t manage when I’m down an arm. Just takes a bit of creativity is all.”

Sam smiles weakly and nods, agreeing with Bucky’s point. But that doesn’t mean he’s willing to forget what he did to Bucky’s arm. Far from it, in fact. Sam sits up in bed and swings his leg over the side. Bucky stands and passes Sam his crutches, watching silently as Sam carefully stands. “I want to help Tony fix your arm,” Sam explains, pacing back and forth across the room a couple of times until he’s comfortable with his ability to stay on his feet—after the phantom pains, Sam feels a bit shakier than usual, so it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

The pair exit the medical bay and head down the hall to Tony’s lab. The door swings open before Bucky can knock, and Tony waves the two amputees inside without turning away from his desk.

“Took you two long enough,” Tony says once Sam and Bucky are inside and the door has shut behind them. Tony spins around in his seat and grins, holding up a shiny new prosthetic leg. “Whaddya think, Sasquatch?” Sam moves closer to Tony and sits down beside him, taking the leg and pulling it on. “You go through legs so fast that I’m becoming a master,” Tony admits, scratching his chin. “Busted that one out in like four hours, and I still think it’s my best work yet.”

“Agreed,” Sam says, bending his knee and watching the light from various pieces of electronic equipment reflect off of the leg and bounce around the room. “It looks great, Tony.”

“Good.” Tony turns to Bucky. “Now it’s your turn. Any requests?”

Bucky smirks. “How ‘bout a rocket launcher? Always wanted to shoot explosives from my wrist like in the pictures.”

“Movies, Metallica.  _ Movies _ .” Tony corrects, shaking his head and laughing. “Took me years to get Cap caught up on the lingo, and now here you are spouting 30s slang all over again.”

“Button your lip or I’ll knock your block off.” Bucky replies, his Brooklyn accent so pronounced that his ‘yours’ sound more like ‘yers.’ Tony shakes his head and turns back to the table, and Bucky adds in his usual more subtle accent, “I ain’t joking about the rocket launcher.” Sam just laughs and joins Tony at the table, pulling up a hologram of Bucky’s arm and getting to work.

* * *

“Hey, Sammy, you in here?”

Sam looks up from the table and turns, watching as Dean walks into the lab. Bucky and Tony turn, too, the former shrugging carefully out of the metal arm Tony was fitting him with and tracking Dean’s movement with his eyes.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says, grinning. “Like the new piece?” Sam lifts his leg, rolling his ankle to emphasize the new limb. Dean pauses, then nods.

“Looks like you’re well on your way to your childhood dream of becoming a robot.” Dean’s words are missing the touch of sarcasm Sam would have expected and are instead deliver with a flat, almost impatient tone. “I got some research I was hoping you’d help me with. Marshall called, he’s got a case he thinks is a djinn.”

Sam is on his feet and ready to help before he realizes what Dean just said. “Marshall? Bruce Marshall?”

“Yeah, Bruce Marshall,” Dean repeats, frowning and lifting one hand to about his nose. “About yeah high, stupid fella, gonna get his ass handed to him if we don’t help?”

“Let him,” Sam says coldly, shaking his head. “Maybe seeing his ass on a silver plate will teach Marshall a lesson.”

“Woah, what crawled up yours and died?” Dean raises his hands in surrender, a hint of a smirk on his face. “What’d Marshall do to incur your wrath?”

Bucky, who until that point had been looking silently between the brothers, decides to speak up. “Isn’t Bruce Marshall the guy who tried to kill you a few months back, kid? Said you were a monster?”

Sam nods hesitantly, warily watching Dean’s reaction. “Yeah. He’s got a faction of hunters convinced that I’m, like, the antichrist or something. Pops up every once in a while to try to run an angel blade through me, but since I’m living with the Avengers he’s never gotten far. Not since the first time.” Sam expects Dean to be pissed, either at Marshall for calling Sam a monster or at Sam for never mentioning it.

What Sam isn’t expecting is for Dean to just shrug and grin. “Marshall isn’t wrong, is he? You do have that whole demon vibe going on, Sammy.” Dean’s words would be harmless enough if it weren’t for the hint of disappointment in his tone, as if he’s personally offended that Sam didn’t realize that his Darkside persona channeled a hell of a lot of demonic energy before.

“Yeah, well, so does Marilyn Manson, and you don’t see Bruce Marshall knocking at his door with an angel blade at the ready,” Sam says bitterly, growing more irritated by the second. He manages to keep a hold on his anger, at least until Dean’s next words reach his ears.

“Marilyn Manson isn’t more demon than human.”

Sam’s eyes flash yellow and Tony and Bucky both jump to their feet, glaring daggers at Dean. “That’s enough,” Tony says sharply, pointing at the door. “Get out of my lab.” 

Dean shrugs, looking past Tony at Sam. “Mind calling off the hounds? You know I was just joking around.”

“Nope,” Bucky says. Sam’s known for a while that Bucky goes full Brooklyn when he’s pissed, and right now, Bucky’s accent is so thick Sam can barely understand a word he’s saying. “You’ve got a lot of crust coming in here and accusing your brother of being a monster. You’re a yellow.”

“In case you don’t speak Great Depression, he’s calling you a coward,” Tony helpfully supplies.

Dean glowers at that, shaking his head. “Nah, Sammy’s just losing his thick skin. A bit of ribbing and he’ll be right back to normal.”

“Just ‘cause you just got out of the can doesn’t give you an excuse to be a chump,” Bucky says, practically seething. “You’re walking on your heels right now, Dean. Turn around and leave right now before I decide that you’re better off rotting in a cell. There’s a monster in this room right now, but it ain’t your brother.” 

Dean’s green eyes sparkle and Sam realizes that Bucky’s stream of old-age insults struck a nerve. Even Sam was shocked by Bucky’s calling Dean a monster and his comment that Dean deserved to still be in prison. Sam knows that Dean was being a bit of an ass—a bit more of an ass than usual, at least—but Bucky’s words were uncalled for.

Rather than replying to Bucky’s tirade, Dean turns and strides from the room.

As the door shuts on Dean’s receding back, Sam steps forward and shoves Bucky as hard as he can. Bucky stumbles back several feet and stiffens, eyes darkening. Tony hesitates, unsure if he should step in, but Bucky straightens and shakes his head.

"Kid, I—“

"You had no right." Sam interrupts without hesitation. "You had  _ no right  _ to say that. He just got out of  _ prison _ ."

"Kid, I need you to listen to me," Bucky says patiently. "He just got back a couple of months ago and he's already trying to force himself back into your head. He's trying to make himself your conscience and that's not healthy."

"He's not... He's not some  _ criminal _ . He's my brother." Sam's protests are weak but he can't find it in himself to back them up, because Bucky is right. Dean has been back for less than two months and has managed to build Sam's guilt back up to levels he hasn't experienced since the day Claire Temple told him about the Lebanon bombing. But Sam still doesn’t think that’s an excuse.

"Family can tear you down just as easy as anyone else. Maybe even easier." Bucky says softly. "I think your brother is controlling, and I think you already know it."

"He's just... trying to protect me." Sam hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek. He knows the argument is weak, but Bucky is trying to lecture him without acknowledging why Dean stormed out of the room in the first place. Dean may have struck a nerve, but that won’t stop Sam from fighting on his brother’s behalf.

Sam turns to Tony, hoping to find that they’re on the same side.

Instead, Tony steps forward and says, “I’m sure he is. Problem is, he's not doing it right. Sam, what Dean is doing, it's abuse. He's manipulating you emotionally, and he's not sorry about it because he genuinely thinks he's helping you. And you're letting him get away with it because up until now, you believed it, too."

"No, he... he's just..." Sam trails off, unable to build a convincing argument. This conversation isn’t going the way Sam expected it to, but now that the path has changed, Sam can’t help but admit that something is definitely off about Dean.

"Sam, you've spent your whole life with your brother," Bucky says, and Sam looks up in surprise. Bucky hasn't called him by his actual name since his first month or so at Avengers Tower. "You've never had any other family, right? Just your brother and your dad?" Sam nods, agreeing with Bucky's statement. He had Bobby, of course, and Jody and Cas and his mom more recently, but he's never been around any of them as much or as constantly as Dean.

"You've been living with us for over a year now, Sam." Tony continues Bucky's train of thought. "We've been treating you as one of our own, as a member of our family, and you've gotten used to how we act around you and around each other."

"And now that Dean is back, you're starting to realize that he doesn't treat you the same way that we do," Bucky adds sympathetically. "It ain't your fault, kid. You didn't know any different." 

It’s those words that flip a switch in Sam’s mind, that convince him that despite their good intentions, Bucky and Tony have made a mistake. Sam might have spent a good majority of his life with Dean, but he isn’t stupid. And he’s known a lot of different.

“ _ No, _ ” Sam says emphatically, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true at all.”

“Kid—“

“Bucky,  _ no _ .” Sam insists, staring his friends down and daring them to interrupt him. “Believe it or not, I  _ did _ know different. I’ve seen truly good people and I’ve seen truly terrible people and I’ve seen everything in between. And Dean may not be perfect, but he isn’t abusive, either. Whatever is going on right now, whatever is possessing Dean to act this way, it isn’t  _ him _ . It  _ isn’t _ .” Sam looks straight at Bucky and waits for a few seconds, just staring into Bucky’s eyes. “I know you don’t trust Dean. But I do. And I need you to trust me. Trust that this isn’t the real Dean. Not by a long shot.”

Tony hesitates, then says, “Well, if it isn’t Dean, what is it?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek. “I, uh, I don’t know. But… I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

“What’s not a coincidence, kid?” Bucky asks, frowning. “Wait… Dean is acting all angry recently, right? Getting pissed off at you about little things, things that aren’t even really your fault?” Sam nods slowly, realizing what Bucky is implying. Rather than addressing Sam, Bucky turns to Tony when he says, “I think Dean may have Croatoan.”

There’s a long moment of awkward silence while Tony considers Bucky’s words. “That’s… not entirely impossible. Dean only joined us at the Compound relatively recently, and we already know that Croatoan has been spreading for months. It’s plausible that he was infected in prison and the symptoms are only just beginning to show.” With that, Tony and Bucky both turn to look at Sam, who wishes he knew what to say.

The truth is, Dean having Croatoan would explain a lot. The bouts of anger, the intense disagreements, even Dean’s desperation to go on a hunt and make a mess of some werewolves. And, though Sam hates to admit it, his recent recurring vision would be a logical end should a Croatoan-infected Dean not be stopped. The entire point of the virus, after all, is to corrupt its host to the point of murder. And with the way Dean’s anger has been aimed at Sam recently, Sam is the logical target.

The only thing Croatoan doesn’t explain is the blue eyes. But Sam pushes that aside for the moment, grateful to have any kind of explanation for his brother’s strange behavior, and willing to overlook the one small detail that doesn’t quite fit. 

With that in mind, Sam’s next words come easily. “I think you’re right,” He says, shaking his head. “It would… explain a lot about how Dean has been acting recently. The anger, the arguments…” Sam trails off and shakes his head again.

“Right now, it’s manageable,” Tony says slowly. “But it probably won’t be forever.” Sam and Bucky both nod in agreement. “For now, the best thing we can do is keep Dean close to home and hope for the best. We don’t know enough about Croatoan to do anything else.”

“Can’t we keep him secure?” Bucky asks. “Dean is a risk to all of us if he goes out of control. And Croatoan ain’t something I want to risk screwing up with.”

Sam quickly shakes his head. “Dean just spent two years in prison. The last thing he needs is to be locked up again. I doubt it’ll do anything but make him worse.”

“Okay,” Tony says, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “We aren’t going to put Dean in a cell, Sasquatch. Especially not now, when we aren’t even sure if what we think is happening is really happening at all. For now, we’ll all watch Dean a little more carefully, and I’ll have JARVIS keep an eye on him, too.” Sam nods, satisfied, but Tony isn’t done yet. “But if Dean  _ does _ get worse, we’re going to have to do something about it. He’s a very dangerous man, Sam, and I know you know it.” Sam can’t do anything but nod again, because he knows that Tony is right. “For now, this is between us. For now, Dean is staying at the Compound, but he’ll have free reign.  _ For now _ .”

For now, Dean’s symptoms are minor. For now, Croatoan isn’t so terrible that it spells doom for all those infected. For now, Sam is safe from the vision that haunts his dreams.

But “for now” can’t last forever. And when it ends, Sam has no idea what he’ll do.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Sorry for kind of dropping off the face of the earth this past month. 
> 
> My university started giving out back-to-school information at the beginning of July, and that, combined with a lot of other quarantine-related stresses, hit me pretty hard. My mental health took a serious hit, and I had to step away from writing for a bit to try to clear my head. 
> 
> But after spending the past week or so reading through this entire series, I was reminded of why I started writing this in the first place, and I'm happy to say that my writer's block has given me a bit of a break. I can't promise that I won't disappear again, and I doubt that my updates will be as regular as usual for a while—until everything else in my life gets back to normal, I can't guarantee that this will, either—but I CAN promise that I will not let this book go unfinished. It may take a bit longer than expected for us to reach the end, but we WILL reach the end.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, everyone, and I hope you enjoy this long-awaited new chapter!
> 
> Emily

As November passes by, the Avengers and the Winchesters slowly fall into a routine.

Dean is annoyed, at first, by his new restrictions, but is happy to reach a compromise: he’s free to hunt anywhere in New York as long as Sam or an Avenger is nearby—or Sam can teleport to his side if need be. Dean goes on four hunts in two weeks, one in Manhattan, one in Albany, and two in far upstate New York, where vampires seem to like to hide out. Every time, Sam makes him promise to call or text if anything happens. 

Dean never texts, but Sam doesn’t really mind—either Tony or Bucky is always with Dean on all of his hunts, whether Dean realizes it or not.

At the Compound, things start to get closer to some semblance of normal. The Avengers get more comfortable around Dean, and Dean starts to get more comfortable around the Avengers. Sam is surprised, one day, to find Dean cooking away in the kitchen while the majority of the Avengers are training in the gym. While Sam and Dean always eat in their suite rather than in the kitchen with the Avengers, Dean and Tony quickly work out a system of food delivery that allows everyone a taste of whatever new concoctions Dean comes up with when he isn’t on hunts.

For two weeks, there’s no sign of the Croatoan virus, no additional episodes of Dean’s spontaneous hostility, and no more issues with Sam’s memory—while he recalls a few more details he’d forgotten, none of the new memories trigger Sam in the same way they have in the past. In fact, everything feels so normal that Sam almost forgets that there’s anything wrong in the first place.

And because of that, for the first time in a while, Sam actually finds himself able to look forward to Thanksgiving.

When Thanksgiving Day rolls around, Sam is surprised to wake up to find Dean and Tony in the kitchen together, working on dinner. Not all of the Avengers will be attending the dinner—Natasha is joining Clint and his family, and Steve and Bucky are eating with Sam Wilson’s—but Tony and Sam were able to fill the empty seats with some friends of their own.

Pepper Potts is the first to arrive, letting herself in and offering Sam a tired wave as she heads for her room to drop off her suitcase—the redeye flight from Japan may not have been the wisest choice, but Pepper insisted on being at the Compound for Thanksgiving, conference halfway across the world be damned. When Pepper returns, she’s completely cleaned up, her suit pressed and not a hair out of place. If Sam hadn’t seen her when she first came in, he would’ve had no idea she hadn’t slept in at least 36 hours. Pepper takes a seat on one of the chairs in the central lounge and pulls out her phone, getting right back to work while she waits for the festivities to begin.

Bruce wanders out of his room a few minutes later, wearing one of his nicer button-downs and running a hand through his messy hair. Sam doesn’t know all the details, but he does know that the Hulk made an appearance on the latest overseas Avengers mission, and Bruce has been dealing with the blowback for the past couple of days. Still, Bruce manages a smile and a wave when he sees Pepper. He collapses into the other seat in the lounge and strikes up a conversation, and Pepper pockets her phone and joins right in.

The last three guests are the last to arrive, but Sam isn’t surprised in the least—they did, after all, have the longest way to go. Most of the food has been prepared and the turkey is in the oven when there’s a sharp knock on the door, and although every conversation stops and every head turns, Sam is the one who walks over to the door and pulls it open.

“Hey, Sam. Been a while. How’s the leg?” 

Sam shakes his head and steps back, allowing Claire Novak into the Compound. Alex trails after her, but Jody pauses in the doorway, offering Sam a smile.

“It’s great to see you, Sam,” Jody says, pulling Sam into a loose hug.

“You too, Jody,” Sam replies. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Jody glances past Sam and shakes her head. “There’s nowhere else we’d rather be.” Sam follows Jody’s gaze to the kitchen, where he finds Dean being accosted by Claire and Alex while Tony carefully edges out of the room.

“They missed him,” Sam observes.

“We all did.”

Sam gestures for Jody to step inside and closes the door behind her. Tony manages to sneak past Claire and walks over to the entryway, holding out a hand to Jody. “Sheriff Mills, great to see you.”

“And you, Mr. Stark,” Jody replies politely, shaking Tony’s hand and looking around as she does so. “I have to say, the new building is very interesting.”

Tony grins, obviously happy about the compliment. “You don’t even know the half of it.” Tony sends Sam a conspiratorial wink and disappears back into the kitchen, which has been vacated by Dean, Claire, and Alex as they head back to the rest of their family. As soon as Dean is within arm’s length, Jody is pulling him into a tight hug—one that Dean does nothing to resist, although he does offer Sam a dramatic scowl over Jody’s shoulder.

It isn’t until Dean begrudgingly returns the embrace that Jody finally releases him, and while the pair start a conversation, Sam follows Claire and Alex into the lounge. Alex sits down on the couch and strikes up a conversation with Bruce, one that starts with the weather and quickly turns into a discussion of medicine and hospital policy that Sam has absolutely no interest in trying to follow. On the other end of the couch, Claire has pulled out her phone and is scrolling through her photos—a quick glance shows Sam that none of the images are particularly celebration-appropriate.

“How have you been, Claire?” Pepper asks politely as Sam scans the room, following Jody and Dean on their path to the brothers’ suite. After they’ve disappeared down the hall, Sam turns to Tony, who has busied himself with the food once again.

“Good,” Claire says distractedly. Sam flicks one finger into the air and lifts Claire’s phone out of her grasp, dropping it on the coffee table. Claire turns around and glares over the back of the couch at Sam, but Sam just smirks and gestures to Pepper.

“Make conversation. Trust me when I say that you need a break from all the gore.” 

Claire scowls, but when she turns back around, she makes no attempt to grab her phone. “Sam said you were coming back from Japan today. What’s it like over there? I’ve always wanted to go.” Pepper smiles happily and starts to describe her trip to Tokyo in detail, and Sam is happy to see that Claire seems to be genuinely interested in the conversation.

Dean exits the suite and returns to the kitchen, and Sam frowns. After a moment, Jody appears at the end of the hallway, an expression of confusion on her face as she scans the room, her gaze stopping on Sam.

Sam doesn’t need Jody to tell him what happened. He already has a pretty good idea.

With one last look at Alex and Claire to confirm that they’re getting along alright with the present Avengers, Sam heads over to Jody. She opens her mouth to speak but Sam shakes his head, gesturing for Jody to follow him back into the suite. It isn’t until he’s closed the door behind them that Sam finally asks, “What happened?”

Jody frowns. “Nothing happened, exactly. But Dean does seem… different.” She pauses, scratching her nose as she probably attempts to figure out what exactly about Dean triggered her hunter instincts. “He’s acting a bit stiffer than I’m used to, I guess.” Jody eventually says, shaking her head. “I guess it can be attributed to what he’s been through the past couple of years, but…”

“But you’re not totally sure,” Sam says, finishing Jody’s thought after she trails off. Jody nods in agreement, her frown deepening.

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” She asks, looking up at Sam with a hint of stubbornness in her eyes.

Sam hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek, then nods. Jody is one of the only people who knows Dean to anywhere near the degree that Sam does. Which means that she’s one of the few other people who might be able to help Sam figure out exactly what’s going on with Dean. “He’s developed some pretty major anger issues recently,” Sam admits. “At first I wasn’t sure what to think, but after he exploded at me in Tony’s lab while Tony and Bucky were with me, they pointed out something I hadn’t really considered.”

When Sam doesn’t immediately continue, Jody raises an eyebrow. “Plan to elaborate on that one?”

“Have Dean and I ever told you about the Croatoan virus before?” Sam asks. 

Jody frowns, then nods slowly. “I think you’ve mentioned it. Oregon, right? The demon virus that wiped a town off the map?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Sam punctuates his words with a nod, then adds, “It’s been making a comeback recently. The Avengers have run across it five or six times now, each one worst than the last. We think it’s spreading through New England, sitting dormant and infecting people for months and then taking out entire towns in a day.” Jody grimaces, probably building a less-than-pretty mental image of the virus’s effects. “There’s, uh, there’s also a chance that Dean has been infected.”

Jody’s eyes widen at this. “You think Dean has Croatoan?” She asks, her tone a cross between disbelief and worry.

“Not for sure, but it’s possible.” Sam rubs the back of his neck. “It would explain the anger issues and the explosive arguments we’ve been having. This new strain of the virus seems to work pretty slowly, so it could be months before Dean reaches a point that tells us definitively.”

“That’s… not good,” Jody says. “Especially since I’m assuming you have no idea how to stop it.”

Sam shakes his head. “Bruce, Tony, and I are working on it, but we don’t exactly have much experience in the area to work with. I was kind of hoping you could put out some feelers, see if there’s anyone out there who’s run into Croatoan before besides Dean and me.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Sam.” Jody’s mouth is set in a grim line, and Sam can see the worry and tension in her eyes. “But it’s been years since you and Dean last encountered Croatoan. Any hunters who had run-ins back then are probably dead by now.”

Sam just nods, smiling grimly. “I figured as much, but it can’t hurt to try.” Sam pauses, frowning. “Dig into encounters with yellow-eyed demons, too. The virus was Azazel’s doing the first time around, and this time Asmodeus has all but signed his name to it. I’m betting Croatoan is a card out of their playbook, so maybe one of them or their siblings messed around with it at some point.”

“Deadly demon virus and Princes of Hell. Great.” Jody shakes her head. “Hell of a Thanksgiving you’ve got for me, Sam.”

Sam bites his cheek, face flushing. “Sorry, Jody.”

Jody sighs. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. Monsters never sleep, not even on the holidays.” 

“Sir would like you to know that dinner is ready,” JARVIS says suddenly, drawing Jody’s attention to the speaker embedded in the ceiling. Sam steps over to the door and opens it, gesturing for Jody to follow him back out of the suite. 

As he and Jody walk down the hallway, the sounds of excited conversation reach Sam’s ears, and he smiles to himself. When they reach the doorway, Sam and Jody discover that Dean and Tony have joined Claire, Alex, Bruce, and Pepper in the central lounge, and all six are engaged in what appears to be a game of charades. Bruce, to Sam’s surprise, is the one playing, waving his arms around in silence while Dean and Alex shout guesses ranging from “ghost” to “those inflatable tube guys outside car dealerships.”

“Monsters don’t appreciate the holidays, but we still can,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Especially this one.” Jody nods in agreement, smiling at her daughters as Alex celebrates her successful guess and Claire pouts dramatically beside her.

“There’s a lot to worry about.” Jody looks up at Sam, who returns her smile. “But there’s a lot to be thankful for, too.”


	20. Chapter 20

The call comes in the day after Thanksgiving: a small town an hour outside of Philadelphia where the inhabitants are acting strangely aggressive.

It’s a friend of Pepper’s who contacts the team, worried about her cousin’s family after noticing some unusual behavior on a video chat. Within minutes of receiving word, Tony has gathered the team and a Quinjet is on its way to Pennsylvania with everyone at the Compound but Dean, Bruce, and Pepper on board.

When they touch down half an hour later, the last thing Sam expects to find is a city in chaos.

The streets are filled with people, but this time, the majority are still alive. There are fights breaking out as far as the eye can see, Croatoan-infected civilians beating on each other with tools, pipes, or bloodied fists. When the Quinjet doors open, none of the Avengers more for the first several seconds.

None of them know how to react to seeing what Croatoan really does for the first time.

“What do we do?” Clint asks, and though Sam is still looking into the town, he feels the eyes of the Avengers on him. This is supposed to be his area of expertise. He’s supposed to be the one who knows how to fix this, how to make things right.

Instead, Sam can only say what he knows that no one wants to hear. “We can’t save them,” Sam says, though it pains him to do so. “We have no cure, no vaccine, and once they reach this point, there’s no turning back anyway.” Sam shakes his head and watches as a preteen boy hits a middle-aged woman—possibly his mother, although Sam doesn’t really want to think about that—in the back of the head with a wrench.

“There must be a way. There must be  _ something _ .” It’s Natasha who insists, and Sam isn’t surprised. Natasha is the one with the most experience with death, the one who knows better than anyone that choosing to kill is just that: a choice. But Sam is the one who knows that what Croatoan does is make that choice for you, whether or not you agree with the outcome.

Regardless, Sam hesitates, because he needs there to be a way, needs to know that Croatoan can be stopped, that the infected can be saved. 

He needs to save these people because it may be the only way to save Dean.

“We need to try to separate them,” Sam decides. “It’s not a cure, and it won’t stop the anger Croatoan makes them feel. But it will keep them from killing each other.”

“Start with the kids,” Steve says, hesitation and determination weighed equally in his tone. “And keep an eye out for anyone who may not be acting out as violently as the others. Lock people in rooms, buildings, bathrooms, I don’t care, just get them away from each other.”

“I’ll call Rhodey. Get him to requisition some holding cells somewhere.” Tony’s words are met with a series of silent nods of agreement from the rest of the team. “Let me know where you put people, and I’ll grab them and fly them out.”

With the plan—meager as it is—in place, the team heads off the Quinjet and into the town, into the fray. Clint takes to the rooftops and Natasha disappears into a building, and Sam, Steve, and Bucky start down the main street.

Sam steps over the bodies of the preteen boy and the woman he attacked, taking care to avoid the blood pooling around them. The boy’s arms out outstretched and Sam can’t help but note that, in his final moments, the boy appeared to reach out toward his mother.

“Um, Sam?” Steve asks quietly, and Sam turns away from the bodies to try to find Steve and Bucky. When Sam looks up, he discovers that the fighting around him has stopped. “Is this supposed to happen?”

The bodies around Sam are frozen, weapons raised to attack, hands poised around throats. It’s like someone paused a movie scene in the middle of the final battle, and all of the actors are waiting for the director to yell action. If it weren’t for the blood slowly dripping down to the ground from the numerous wounds the frozen infected have inflicted on each other, Sam would think that the entire world had stopped around him.

“No, it isn’t,” Sam says, and every eye in the immediate area turns to him.

“What’s going on, kid?” Bucky asks. “Should we be worried?”

A couple of the infected start moving slowly in Sam’s direction, and Sam swallows hard. “I’m gonna go with yes.”

One of the infected throws their weapon—a gray brick—at Sam. Sam teleports a few feet to the right to avoid the projectile, which shatters a window. And then all hell breaks loose.

The frozen civilians burst into motion, their rage singularly focused not on each other but on the Avengers. Sam hears a surprised shout from Clint and a moment later arrows begin to rain from the sky. A ways down the street, in the town square, Sam catches a glimpse of Steve and Bucky fighting off the horde of infected who chose them as targets. Gunfire fills the air as Natasha is forced to defend herself.

Sam grabs a throwing knife and sinks it into the nearest outstretched arm.

“Why are they attacking us?!” Clint asks, breathless and a little bit afraid. “What the hell is going on?”

An infected grabs Sam’s jacket and Sam throws up a hand, sending the man—and another four infected behind him—flying across the street and through the display window of a boutique. “I don’t know,” Sam says, grunting when the handle of a screwdriver impacts his ribs and bounces off. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Croatoan’s initial goal is to infect everyone in a town, but once it does, the infected’s singular focus turns to destroying each other. This town was already in the second phase when the Avengers arrived.

Sam hears Clint yelp. When Tony asks for a sit-rep, Clint replies, “One of the fuckers just tried to slice me open!”

As an infected approaches Sam with a scalpel, Sam suddenly realizes that the situation makes perfect sense after all. The town may have gone into phase two, but that was before the Avengers arrived.

That was before six more uninfected people entered the fray.

“We need to get out of here,” Sam says urgently, teleporting back to the Quinjet and surveying the scene from afar. “They aren’t trying to kill us. They’re trying to  _ infect _ us.”

Tony and Steve curse almost at the exact same time, both realizing the gravity of the situation. “Get back to the Quinjet. We need to get out of here,” Steve orders.

“Not gonna happen,” Sam says hesitantly, watching as a group of infected near the Quinjet turn their attention to him and start running. “There’s too many infected over here, and the ones you’re all fighting will just follow you.”

“Guys, I’m running out of ammo,” Clint warns.

“Same here,” Natasha adds.

Sam curses under his breath and considers his options, eyeing the rapidly approaching infected. “Tony, grab Clint and get out. Natasha, can you get to Steve and Bucky in the town square?”

Tony and Natasha both respond in the affirmative, and Sam grits his teeth. As soon as the infected reach the Quinjet, Sam teleports back to where he was before and starts running.

Luckily, most of the infected that Sam was fighting in the street left when he teleported, so the path to the town square is pretty much clear. When Sam reaches the square, he finds Natasha waiting with Steve and Bucky, all three back-to-back-to-back, fighting off a massive group of infected.

Sam’s eyes glow brighter and he throws up his hands, throwing infecting to either side and clearing a path through the mob. Sam sprints through the crowd, tossing more infected aside with every step until he’s certain that none are close enough to Steve, Bucky, and Natasha to touch them.

Then, Sam dives forward. He grabs Steve’s arm with one hand and Natasha’s with the other, and the second he feels his head hit Bucky’s chest, Sam closes his eyes.

When Sam lands, he hits carpet, not brick. That—and the surprised exclamation from Pepper—is all the confirmation that Sam needs that he successfully got Steve, Bucky, and Natasha back to the Compound.

“Tony, are you clear?” Sam asks as Pepper helps Steve to his feet. Bucky holds out a hand and Sam takes it, pulling himself up.

“Safe and sound. Clint and I are on our way back now.” Sam smiles. 

Then he drops his hold on Bucky’s hand and collapses, unconscious long before he hits the ground.


	21. Chapter 21

Teleporting three people at once—not including himself—is something Sam never tried before, and it’s something he never plans on doing again.

The last thing he remembers is the confirmation from Tony that he and Clint are alright, then waking up in his bed with an anxious Dean hovering over him. Apparently, Sam’s teleportation wasn’t built to handle that many people at once. After the Avengers failed to wake Sam within a few hours, Tony’s doctors examined him and discovered that Sam had managed to exhaust himself to the point that his body shut itself down—basically, Sam accidentally put himself into a coma. 

It was minor, luckily, and Sam was awake by the next day, but Tony and Dean were both fairly traumatized by the incident. Neither of them wants Sam teleporting more than himself and one other person again, and Sam is inclined to agree.

Even now, a day and a half later, Sam is still bedridden, unable to work up the energy to make it any further than the bathroom.

Teleportation-induced coma aside, Sam’s weekend is pretty uneventful. Tony fills him in on the fate of the latest Croatoan town—void of all life upon his return a few hours later, just like all the rest—and Dean keeps him well-fed and even better rested. Sam mostly spends the weekend recovering, sleeping eighteen hours a day and spending the other six fending off Dean’s mama bear instincts, eating, and carefully testing his strength with walks to the bathroom and brief uses of his demon sight.

One downside of Sam’s recovery is that by the time he starts feeling better, his sleep schedule has been completely thrown off. A day and a half after the incident, Sam finds himself wide awake at two in the morning, staring at the far wall and turning his demon sight on and off again. Dean is sleeping in a chair in the corner of Sam’s bedroom, snoring lightly, and his slouching form glows every time Sam’s yellow eyes light up.

“Mr. Sam?”

A tiny voice reaches Sam’s ears and he turns toward the doorway, yellow vision offering up the image of a slight figure standing in the doorway. Sam allows the yellow to fade from his vision and uses the dim light coming from the open door to examine his unexpected visitor, whose hands are clasped nervously behind his back.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Dean asks before Sam has the chance, fully awake the second Peter spoke or possibly even sooner. JARVIS helpfully raises the lights as Dean climbs to his feet and glances at Sam, who nods gratefully—Sam may not be able to sleep, but he’s still exhausted, and he definitely doesn’t have the energy to deal with a teenage superhero right now.

If anyone else were in the room, Sam would have to deal with Peter alone. But Sam trusts Dean to take over, to slip right back into the role he long ago mastered.

Peter frowns, looking between Sam and Dean. “I had… I, uh…” Peter trails off and runs over to Sam’s bed, standing at the foot and scanning Sam in concern. “Are you okay?” Peter asks worriedly.

Sam nods and glances at Dean, who smiles warmly. “Sam’s tired,” Dean says. “This weekend was pretty rough on him. He just needs some rest.” The weekend was rough on them both, but Dean isn’t going to tell Peter that because it’s pretty clear that Peter needs help right now just as much as Sam does.

And Dean is the perfect man for the job.

“Come on, kid, tell us what’s wrong. Sam’s listening, promise.”

Peter wrings his hands and looks down at his feet. When he finally speaks, his words are so quiet Sam has to strain to hear them. “I had the dream again.”

Sam winces sympathetically, quickly understanding why Peter came into his suite in the middle of the night. Peter’s nightmares have been improving in the months since his death, but Sam knows better than anyone that memories like that don’t just disappear.

“Dream?” Dean asks patiently, sitting down on the foot of Sam’s bed and gesturing for Peter to do the same. A wave of exhaustion hits Sam like a truck and he lies back and closes his eyes, listening closely for Peter’s reply.

Eventually, Peter asks, “Did Sam tell you about my, uh…”

“Death?” Dean supplies. There’s a pause, and Peter must nod, because Dean says, “Yeah, he told me. That’s not an easy thing to go through. I’m sure you know Sam’s died a couple’a times, but I’ve had my fair share of trips upstairs myself.” And downstairs, but that’s not something Dean is going to tell Peter, either. “Wanna talk about it?” Dean pauses, then adds, “I know you probably aren’t fond of reliving it, but talking can help you figure out what’s bugging you.”

“Bugging me?” Peter asks hesitantly.

“Something’s haunting you, kid,” Dean says. “Deaths are tough, but I figured out pretty fast that they only stick around if you let them. Some part of what happened is stuck in your head like a splinter, digging beneath your skin. Those dreams are going to keep on hurting until you find the little sliver that’s causing all that pain.”

Peter’s weight shifts on the bed, and Sam feels a small hand touch his shin and then quickly retract. “It starts with the demon,” Peter says slowly. “She’s holding my arms down at my sides, and it feels wrong, because it’s MJ’s arms but they’re too tight, and she’s hugging me from behind.” Peter swallows so hard Sam can hear it. “Then Penumbra appears. This shadow shows up and kind of converges until it turns into a girl. She doesn’t look that much older than me, but she’s got these… these scars on her face. Like she was burned. I don’t see anything else besides those burns before she’s gone again, back to being a shadow. And I realize the demon is gone, but it’s too late because Penumbra’s hand is going through my chest.” 

A deep breath and a quiet hiccup, and Sam feels the bodies shift, leaning into each other. Sam cracks his eyes open and sees Dean’s hand around Peter’s shoulders, holding him close, anchoring him in reality.

“It hurts so bad, I can’t think about anything else. Everything is just… white. And I see Mr. Stark’s face above mine, and he’s crying, and all I can say is that I’m sorry. Then I’m standing a ways away and there’s this lady beside me, and she tells me to take her hand.” Peter hiccups again, but this time it sounds a little more choked, a little wetter. “Mr. Stark is crying and everyone else is just staring, and Mr. Stark cries out my name, and I just… I just take her hand. I just turn around and leave.” Peter sounds bitter when he says it, and Sam knows what Peter’s splinter is, and he knows that Dean knows it, too.

“You left.” It’s not a question, just a statement of fact. There’s no room for Peter to argue, but he does it anyway, because what else is he supposed to do? Accept it? Act like everything is okay when he knows deep down that it isn’t, pretend he was trying to do anything other than spare himself the pain of seeing his friends in mourning?

How can you forgive yourself for burdening your friends when you know that your burden comes from your own selfishness?

“How could I do that?” Peter asks. His voice cracks and the hiccups finally turn to sobs, still quiet but unable to be choked back and hidden away. “How could I just leave them there? How could I leave Tony there?”

“Kid, listen to me.” Another shifting of positions as Dean forces Peter to turn toward him. “I know you’re probably just as stubborn as Sam, and Stark, and all these other capes who think their mission in life is to give all you’ve got to others and save nothing for yourself. But I need you to realize that you aren’t perfect. None of you are perfect. And I don’t mean that you aren’t perfect because you can’t save everyone, because you make mistakes, because you have limits and sometimes you reach them.” Dean breathes in sharply. “Peter, you aren’t perfect because you’re human. Humans are selfish. They make decisions that benefit them, that make them feel better, that assuage some fear or worry that they have. You make choices every day for selfish reasons, even if you don’t realize it, even if it’s as simple as which cereal to have for breakfast or whether to do your homework now or after dinner.”

“But—“

Peter only gets one word out before Dean cuts him off and continues, “What all you superheroes always seem to forget is that you’re  _ allowed _ to be selfish. You’re allowed to make choices for yourself sometimes, kid, and no one will ever fault you for that.”

“I left Tony behind,” Peter protests.

Dean sighs. “And you’d’ve only hurt yourself if you’d have stayed.” Dean pauses, and Sam hears the quiet thump of Dean’s hand against Peter’s back. “Tony couldn’t see you standing there, Peter. He wouldn’t have been able to see you, hear you, touch you. He would’ve had no idea you were there, and your death would’ve hurt him just as much. Leave or stay, you couldn’t have made any difference in his pain. In that moment, the only thing you could choose was how much you were willing to hurt yourself. And you chose to walk away.”

The silence stretches out for a long moment, and Sam opens his eyes to see Peter’s head resting on Dean’s chest and Dean’s hand ruffling Peter’s hair.

“How many times have you made that choice?” Peter asks quietly.

“Too many.”

“And what did you choose?”

Dean hesitates, then glances over Peter’s head at Sam. “I chose wrong.”

And it’s a lie.

Sam knows what Dean chose, what they both chose every time, what they’ll both keep choosing until they can’t anymore. But Dean had to lie because what Dean chose wasn’t wrong for him but it would be wrong for Peter. Dean didn’t choose to leave. But he didn’t choose to stay, either.

Every time, Dean chose the same thing. He chose Sam. And he’ll do it again.

And Sam knows that every time, he’ll choose Dean, too.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for yet another short chapter and yet another long break. I can't promise consistent posts for the foreseeable future, but I am determined to finish this story and I am determined to do it before we all die of old age. For now, please bear with me as my new antidepressant finishes kicking in, my fellow Americans vote a very terrible person out of office, and a little global pandemic finally decides to leave us all alone.
> 
> To everyone who has stuck with me through the crazy year of 2020, thank you. And stick around—in the next few chapters things are really going to pick up.

_ Sam must have fallen back asleep because when he opens his eyes again, Dean and Peter are both gone. The lights have been turned back off and without activating his demon sight, Sam can only see what’s illuminated by the dim moonlight streaming through the windows.  _

_ Most everything in the room is casting long shadows. The moon is high enough in the sky to be visible but low enough that it barely peeks over the tops of the trees. Sam looks from object to object in his room, measuring the shadows absentmindedly and comparing them to each other—the chair, the dresser, the figure standing in the doorway. _

_ Sam isn’t expecting the long shadow stretching from the doorway but it doesn’t startle him. Though he can’t see the figure, Sam knows exactly who he’s looking at long before they step fully into the room. _

_ When Dean moves into view, the moonlight casts a strange shadow on his face. _

_ It isn’t until Dean is at Sam’s side that Sam realizes why the shadow seems so strange. _

_ The glow of blue eyes illuminates Dean’s face as he drives an angel blade into Sam’s chest. _

Sam wakes with a start to a quiet, “Peter is gone.”

Sam cracks his eyes open to find Dean sitting closer, one leg on the bed, his knee brushing against Sam’s shoulder. Sam fights the urge to shift away from Dean’s touch, trying to convince his tired mind that the Dean in his vision and the Dean beside him now are not the same.

The room’s lights are at half-brightness but they still make it impossible to see through the windows. Sam squints and JARVIS lowers the lights some more, just enough for Sam to make out the wall of trees that marks the edge of the Avengers Compound’s land.

Sam looks for the moon but quickly finds his search impossible—the sky is cloudy, rain beating softly against the window.

“You alright?” Dean asks. Sam nods slowly, eyes fluttering as he fights off the exhaustion that tries its best to pull him back under.

Dean waits patiently as Sam wages his battle, waits until Sam’s eyes flicker yellow and Sam opens them wide, staving unconsciousness off for the time being—Sam is determined to stay awake, determined to avoid another vision, but Dean doesn’t know that. Dean’s form glows in the yellow light as Sam finally wins his fight, and Sam searches Dean’s soul for any sign of the darkness that has been growing within him.

Just as Sam comes to the conclusion that Dean’s soul remains untouched, Dean says, “There’s something wrong with me.”

Sam is fully awake now, his exhaustion gone in an instant, destroyed by a rush of adrenaline. Sam doesn’t physically react to Dean’s words, but Dean sees the change anyway, sees something in Sam’s shining eyes that tells him exactly what Sam is thinking before Sam even knows it himself.

“You already knew,” Dean says. His words should be bitter, should be angry. Dean should be mad that Sam knew and didn’t tell him, knew and didn’t say a word, knew and kept it inside, let it eat away at his soul as Winchesters are prone to do. But he isn’t mad, and his words aren’t bitter or angry. They’re just… accepting.

For some reason, that only makes Sam feel worse.

“I did,” Sam says, lifting one tired hand and scratching slowly but anxiously at the scar on his cheek. “A few of the Avengers know, too. Tony, Bucky, probably Natasha. We’re… we’re trying. Trying to figure out what’s going on, trying to find a cure.”

Dean nods, falling silent for a long moment. Sam drops his hand onto his chest and Dean automatically reaches for it, fingers brushing against the back of Sam’s hand before he pulls his hand back sharply and sucks in a breath.

“It feels like there’s this... thing, inside of me,” Dean says, pressing his fingertips into the center of his chest like a claw trying to wrap around his heart. “I get angry and see red, blue, black. And then I’m not the one behind the wheel anymore, but I am. It’s like this other side of me comes out, the side no one but the monsters is ever supposed to see.”

Dean’s hand drops into his lap as he goes quiet, looking expectantly at Sam.

Sam doesn’t speak for a long moment, processing Dean’s words and wishing they weren’t so familiar. Eventually, he says, “We’ll fix this. We always do.”

Neither brother really believes it.

“And if we don’t?” Dean asks. “What happens if I go crazy? If I try to hurt someone or try to kill you, Sam? What if you have no choice but to kill me?”

“I won’t.”

“But if you have to?”

Sam hesitates. “I’ll bring you back,” he says, “like I always do.”

And Dean shakes his head. “No. No, you won’t. If I die, Sammy, don’t bring me back.”

“What?” Sam asks in disbelief. He never thought that Dean would ever give in, would ever stop fighting. And yet, before Dean even says it, Sam understands.

Because they’ve been through this before.

“You remember what happened the last time,” Dean says softly. It’s not a question but Sam nods, because how could he forget? “I don’t want to turn into that  _ thing _ again, Sammy. I can’t risk that demon coming back, not with Cas stuck upstairs and the bunker out of bounds.” Dean wrings his hands and Sam braces himself for the final blow, the piece of Dean’s speech that he’s been holding back, the part he’s been trying to say all along.

When it comes, it hits even harder than Sam expected.

“I need you to promise that you’ll let me go.” It’s like a punch to the chest, and the breath vacates Sam’s lungs in a single choking gasp. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Sam protests, but he knows in his heart that he’ll do whatever Dean says. That no matter how many fights, verbal or physical, no matter how long they spend apart, feuding, only silence and anger passing between them, San won’t hesitate to trust Dean’s words, to follow his instructions, to fulfill his last request.

Because at the end of the day, Dean is still Sam’s big brother, and there’s nothing Sam won’t do for him.

No matter how much it hurts.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> This note is for all those who have been waiting for a new update and didn't see my explanation before it was deleted.
> 
> It's been a long few months since my last update. I'm very happy that everyone is enjoying this series, and I'm sorry for dropping off the face of the earth in recent months. This has been an interesting year for me, and after missing July and struggling with some things in my personal life, I elected to take the rest of 2020 off of writing. I've spent January 2021 working on getting back in the saddle, clarifying how I want the rest of Poisoned Minds to go, and writing a lot more (both for this series and for my classes).
> 
> I fully intend to finish both Poisoned Minds and the entire Second Chances series (which won't be quite over yet when PM reaches its end). From here on out, my updates will likely not be nearly as consistent as they were in the past, but I made a promise to myself back in 2017 that I was going to finish this series, not only for my readers but for myself. I plan to stick to that promise, 2020 be damned.
> 
> I achieved my goal of posting Chapter 23 before the end of January (barely, it's the 31st as I write this). In the future, I'll work toward updating once a month, every other week, every week...
> 
> Small steps, but we're moving forward.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this, and to everyone who has ever taken time out of their day to read even a single word of the Second Chances series.
> 
> -Emily

As soon as Sam steps into the warehouse, he knows that everything is about to go wrong. It’s instinct, honed by years of practice, that raises the hair on the back of Sam’s neck. It’s worry for Tony and Steve—who entered the warehouse just before Sam did—that inspires Sam to shout a warning. It’s the gun against his back and the strong fingers wrapped around his wrist that stop the words from ever leaving his mouth.

Tony got the call fifteen minutes ago and turned to Sam with desperation in his eyes. Sam didn’t have to know what the problem was; the expression on Tony’s face said more than enough. Sam grabbed Tony with one hand and Steve with the other and, as the rest of the Avengers headed for the Quinjet, took the three of them to the area of the Bronx that Tony specified. They landed in front of the warehouse, and Tony headed straight inside with Steve and Sam hot on his heels.

Now, Sam wishes he’d at least taken the time to do a quick scan before following his friends directly into a trap.

“What exactly were we supposed to find here?” Steve asks when he and Tony reach the far end of the room and realize that there’s nothing there.

Tony looks through a dirty window, then turns away from Sam to examine a crumbling wall. “Kids. The call came from NYPD, said some guy with black eyes had grabbed a couple of ten-year-olds by the arms and vanished into thin air. Last place his phone GPS pinged was right here, fifteen seconds before Sam teleported us here.”

Sam can’t see whoever is behind him, knows that turning to look will end his life even more quickly than it already will be, but he can picture the uniform, the badge, the police-issue firearm with its muzzle pressed in the small of Sam’s back. The call came from the demon, Sam is sure of it.

“Sam, you’ve got that whole body-detection thing, right?” Tony looks over his shoulder at Sam. “See anything?” As Tony and Steve head toward Sam, Sam realizes that they haven’t seen the demon yet. It’s Steve who stops first, his eyes on the hand closed around Sam’s wrist.

“Let him go,” Steve says sharply, pulling Tony to a stop a few yards away. “Or we’ll make you.”

“Make me?” The demon asks in the light, colorful voice of a young woman. The demon probably possessed a rookie, someone with enough authority to get a badge, gun, and Tony Stark’s number, but not enough for the rest of the department to notice when she goes missing. “You’re a little out of your depth, don’t you think?” The way the blood drains from Tony and Steve’s faces suggests that the demon has just shown them exactly what it is.

Sam doesn’t have to see the empty black eyes to know how unnerving they can be.

The barrel of the gun digs deeper into Sam’s back, and he tries to convey his apologies through his eyes. Tony and Steve stand frozen, watching in horror as the demon shifts its arm to Sam’s shoulder and presses down hard, forcing Sam to his knees and shifting the gun up to point at the back of his head. The hand, however, remains firmly planted on Sam’s shoulder—this demon is far too smart to release its hold on Sam for even a second and give him the ability to teleport to safety.

“ _Let him go_ ,” Tony hisses, his voice tinny through his metal helmet. The demon laughs at this, cocking the gun and tapping the barrel against the back of Sam’s head.

“And miss the opportunity to be the one who kills Sam Winchester?” The demon asks. “Not a chance.”

“You know, a lot of people have said that before.” It takes a minute for Sam to realize that neither Steve nor Tony is the one speaking now—and that the voice is coming from _behind_ Sam rather than from in front of him. The voice is familiar, far too familiar, and it isn’t until it speaks again that Sam realizes why. “So far, no one has succeeded.”

The gun disappears from Sam’s head and the hand follows soon after. As soon as the demon’s touch disappears, Sam teleports a few feet away and turns around, watching as the demon collapses to its knees, fighting shining bindings that surround its body in a golden glow.

Then Sam looks beyond the demon and stares in disbelief at Jack Kline, who is standing behind the demon with his eyes glowing and one hand extended. Waves of gold suspend the demon in place, and Sam utters a quick exorcism, watching as a column of smoke vacates the cop’s body and flees the room. The cop collapses to the ground, and Sam immediately heads to her, crouching down to check the young woman’s pulse.

“Who the hell are you?” Tony asks as Sam stands, happy to have found the woman’s heartbeat strong and steady. Jack is standing right in front of Sam when he looks up, and a moment later Jack’s arms are wrapped around Sam’s torso in a hug that’s just a little bit too tight.

Sam returns the hug just as tightly, closing his eyes and thanking Chuck that Jack is still in one piece despite being on his own for two years. When he finally pulls away, Sam pulls down his mask and smiles warmly down at Jack, yellow and gold eyes fading away in tandem. “God, Jack, it’s been way too long.” Jack nods slowly, but Sam notices that Jack’s attention is focused on his face.

“Sam, what happened to you?” Jack asks worriedly, reaching out and tracing the jagged scar on Sam’s cheek with one hand. Tony and Steve move forward immediately—Sam can barely touch the scar without wincing, and he refuses to let anyone else touch it—only to be stopped in their tracks when Sam simply allows the intrusion, waiting until Jack has lowered his hand to shake his head.

“Daeva,” Sam says. “I’m fine, Jack. Doesn’t even hurt.”

“I can heal it,” Jack says, lifting his hand once again. “All of it. Your face, your mind, your leg.” His eyes start to glow gold once more but Sam shakes his head and steps back to avoid Jack’s touch.

“I’m fine, Jack, really.” Sam smiles despite himself at Jack’s naivety, at his persistent determination to make everything right. Despite being on his own these past couple of years, Jack doesn’t seem to have lost his light. Even with everything that’s happened to him and Dean in the interim, Sam can’t help but be thankful that at least one person in the splintered remains of the Winchester family got out of the situation with some innocence intact.

Regardless, Sam says, “Sometimes there are things that you can’t just make go away. It’s been a long couple of years, kid.” Just like Peter does when referred to as a kid, Jack wrinkles his nose. Sam laughs a bit, but sobers quickly, asking, “Where have you been? Cas and I met up a few months ago, but he didn’t mention you then.”

“I’ve been… hunting,” Jack admits, rubbing the back of his neck like he expects to be scolded. “After you disappeared and Dean was arrested, Castiel and I cleaned up the bunker and went out to try to find you. We could only search for about a week before Castiel had to go up to Heaven, and when I went back to the bunker, someone was calling asking for your help. So I started hunting.”

“You looked for me,” Sam repeats in surprise.

Jack nods and frowns. “Of course we did!” He says like it should be obvious. “Dean was arrested but no one knew where you were. Dean told Castiel that you’d gone the other way in Lebanon, into the heart of the city. He was sure that you’d made it out.” Jack hesitates, then shakes his head. “I should have kept looking. I shouldn’t have stopped until I found you.”

“You wouldn’t have, Jack,” Sam says. “You tried, and that’s what matters.” Sam smiles. “And I’m glad you’re keeping up the family business, doing what Dean and I couldn’t.”

“Don’t mean to interrupt, Sasquatch, but who exactly is this kid?” Tony asks. When Sam turns to face Tony and Steve, he finds that Tony’s helmet has disappeared and he and Steve are wearing nearly identical expressions of immense confusion.

Sam puts one hand on Jack’s shoulder and smiles at his friends. “Jack, meet Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. Guys, this is Jack Kline. His mother entrusted him to Dean, Castiel, and I after her death.”

“So he’s your kid,” Steve says.

“Your kid with superpowers,” Tony adds.

Sam shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “Not exactly. Jack is a nephilim. Half-human, half-angel, and a lot more powerful than either. Jack’s mother died in childbirth, so he moved into the bunker with us afterward.”

“You…” Tony trails off, clearly puzzled. He does some quick counting on his fingers, then says, “You told me you moved into the bunker like six years ago.” Tony turns his attention to Jack and asks, “How old are you?”

Jack hesitates and looks up at Sam for support. Sam just nods, offering Jack a smile that he quickly returns. “I’m about two and a half, I think,” Jack says, much to Steve and Tony’s disbelief.

“When Jack was born, he aged rapidly until his body was approximately that of an 18-year-old, then the aging slowed down to what we hope is a more normal pace,” Sam explains. “Dean, Cas, and I figured it was a defense mechanism. Given how chaotic that day was, Jack probably thought it best to grow up fast.”

Steve and Tony stare at Jack for a long minute, then exchange a look. “I can’t believe that isn’t the weirdest thing you’ve told us,” Tony finally says.

The sound of Tony’s blasters fills the air, magnified by a hundred, and after a few seconds, Sam hears something heavy land on the roof. Jack looks up but Sam turns to the door, watching Clint run inside, followed shortly by Natasha and Bucky.

Clint stops in his tracks and looks around, narrowing his eyes on Jack and the unconscious cop lying on the ground. “What, uh, what the hell happened here?” Clint asks, one hand inching toward his quiver. Beside him, Natasha’s fingers are wrapped around the barrel of her sidearm, ready to use it at any time. Bucky is the only one who looks relaxed—Sam figures that Bucky knows that if Sam is standing right next to Jack with no mask and no yellow eyes, there’s nothing to worry about.

“Guys, meet Jack,” Steve says, gesturing toward Sam and Jack. “He’s…” Steve pauses, trying to figure out what to say. Eventually, Steve decides on, “Sam’s kid.”

Unsurprisingly, Clint, Natasha, and Bucky all stare at Sam like he has three heads. Sam shakes his head. “Not my biological child,” He clarifies. “Jack lived with Dean and me at the bunker. He’s... supernatural, to put it simply, so we wanted to keep an eye on him.”

“And then Lebanon blew up,” Jack says. “And Dean was arrested, and Sam disappeared.”

“And Jack took up the mantle, started hunting when Dean and I couldn’t.” Sam hesitated, then turned his attention back to Jack. “You should come back to the Compound with us. Get something to eat, tell me about all these hunts you’ve been on.”

Jack scans the faces of the Avengers, searching for something Sam can’t identify. After a moment, Jack looks up at Sam and says, “Only if you tell me what happened to you. All of it. Everything that was done to you.” Sam tries to protest, but before he can get a word out Jack holds up a hand and shakes his head. “I want to know what happened to you, Sam. I need to know how to help you. I’m powerful, Sam, you know that better than anyone. Maybe I can’t fix what you went through but I can at least make it better.”

Sam smiles despite himself but shakes his head again. “I’m okay, Jack, I swear.” San insists, though he knows that despite having no blood relationship, Jack managed to inherit Dean’s stubbornness. “My leg doesn’t hurt, and neither does my face. I’ve suffered far worse and come out the other side.”

“You don’t _have_ to suffer,” Jack insists. “Why would you choose to keep the scars? Why would you want to remember what happened to you?”

The Avengers’ eyes bore holes in Sam’s torso as he replies, “It’s easier to forget. Sometimes, it’s the right choice.” Sam thinks of Peter, who to this day has no idea that Sam killed himself to retrieve Peter from Heaven. Then, he thinks of Hell, of the broken mind those hidden memories imposed on him, of the pain that forgetting caused him and everyone he came into contact with. “But sometimes, it’s important to remember.”

“Sam?” Steve asks, and Sam turns toward the door, where the Avengers have gathered.

“Dean is at the Compound, too,” Sam tells Jack. Sam puts one hand on Jack’s shoulder and guides him toward the Quinjet. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.” And maybe, Sam thinks as he and Jack board the Quinjet, Jack’s arrival can serve another purpose.

As much as Jack hates to admit it, he can’t fix everything. Sam knows that’s true, knows that even Jack’s expansive powers have limits. But there’s one thing Sam wants to fix more than anything—and as far as Sam can tell, it’s as supernatural as Jack is.

Science and superpowers can’t stop the Croatian virus. It’s a supernatural disease, borne of a world that the Avengers have no experience with and Sam has no real power to stop. But Jack is powerful, far more powerful than Sam.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s powerful enough to stop Croatian.

Maybe he’s strong enough to save Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> New updates on Saturdays! (Hopefully weekly but probably more like monthly)


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